The Genie
The dancing girl in the yellow silk pants
shimmered in my dream.
She was a flame that kept burning in the morning.
If I bring her to Aladdin,
I can gaze into her chocolate eyes
and lose myself in the maze of her footsteps.
Aladdin thinks I am his servant,
but every morning I weave a dream
into the world where he walks by the river.
I hold my prism in the river of sunlight,
each wave of color a possibility
to weave footsteps into the world
I paint every morning.
I can dream or disappear
into the longing for the light
that becomes invisible
inside the bronze of my lamp.
Every morning, you choose
to dance or disappear.
— Diane Frank
