Moondance

They danced in the moonlight for the last time.
The sky glittered, full of stars threatening to fall.
Somewhere a she-fox was watchful.

They twirled and swirled in the dimming silver,
A dance wary and tentative,
A dance sure of its steps, but cautious.
A shadow dance of smoke and mirrors.

It stared them in the face, reflecting instead the she-fox, gazing at the piggy-bank sky.

And so they danced.

It grew tiring, their movements more strained.
It was becoming harder to see though the growing darkness.
The trees’ stark black fingers clawed at the dime-silver moon, but still,
They danced.

The she-fox raised her head, sniffed the air.
She could smell rancid fear, and the smoke of a long-dead fire that even the moon had been obliged to leave alone.

The dancers flew at a furious pace.

Scraggling hands still grasped at the moon,
Fading,
And sinking ever so reluctantly into their clutches.

And still they danced.
The she-fox held her breath and closed her slanted eyes.

Light was a thing of memory now, like a penny dropped on a sidewalk and forgotten until it ripped through the concrete sky leaving a trail of old flames.

The dancers stumbled in the darkness.
Their steps halting, off-time with the music of falling coins and yapping fox cubs.
And still they danced, if only for these tiny, helpless creatures.

But the cubs could smell it too, and diminished.
Soon they were gone and only a mirage of silver remained to light the dance floor.

The dancers slowed, now confident.
Their steps had carried them apart; now not even the smoke and shadows could help them.
Far off, the she-fox whined pitifully.

It was fast.
A creak.
A clench.
A cage.
There was no escaping the black graffitied walls closing in on the innocent sphere of light.

Breaking

Shattering

Splintering glass

Falling spears to earth.
The she-fox cried to the impoverished night, her cubs gone, the moon dead.
Forever.

The dancers had stopped dancing.