The Belly Dancer

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A woman in a sky-blue antique skirt

That shook

Turned her hand

Rocking her hips to root light

She gave her generous

Generous smile

Snapping her hips over

And over as the workweek

Vanished in her

Rocking and stepping

From the ancient world

It had to be

She was gardening

A flash of hope

We were getting older

And more young

We were all a long wave

Back through the forgotten