Ruth Sabath Rosenthal

Slipping into Red

pairs of dancing bodies
pushing and shoving
round a mirrored floor

i tear across the glass
down spiraling stairs
into an oncoming rash
of fast-paced pinched-
faced madcaps dashing

and with blasts of red
blitzing my head I wake
in a hammock secure
in a big tree’s cradling arms
unsure if coming is going