Lost in the Crowd

A spring gathering and dance  April 15 1832

I was tapping 

a staccato rhythm-

Fingers lost without

smooth leather

wrapped between them.

Click and swoosh.

Cantering by

in flashes of brown

and gold and green. 

streams murmering

behind delicate paintings

held by delicate hands.

Blue-green eyes

watching without shield

open and quiet

over her laughing mouth

of rosebuds and pearls.

I spoke of jumps

and hands high,

courses and places

and heard not

a word

I said. 

Myself and the gawkers

with clumsy hands

and worn feet-

Speaking of foreign things

to this new land.