... and she is still dancing

new orleans
is a ballerina
full of dreamdust,
dancing in the rain
with her finger
on the pulse of america
and a tattoo
of a broken heart
on her chest.

i fell in love with her
the first time we met.
we held hands
and jumped into
the open arms of color
when she taught me
how to dance.

through clouds of smoke
and singular moments,
i thirst for her tears
and she told me
how death slept
in her bed
and nightmares danced
to the tune of despair.

but new orleans
is wide awake,
splashing puddles of light
on the dry, grey shadows
of her land.

and she is still dancing,
with her finger
on the pulse of america
and a tattoo of a broken heart
on her chest.