Lisa Barstow

These white sheets hanging on the line
have the bodies of Sufi dancers,
arms outstretched
waiting for the whirling to begin.
They spin themselves into spirals.
Rejoicing
Dervishes
linked to the movement of God.

Coiling into oblivion
their form, lost in oceans of air
carries them to an unseen place
between two dimensions.
Parallel universes,
hang suspended
like a spider on her web.
Life’s spiral journey
taking them deeper and higher
than we can possibly imagine.

And still they whirl.

They are caught in the eye
of their moving storm.
Bodies entranced in dance
as breath blows breath
into creation,
and arms curl themselves
around invisible worlds.