Retablo Twisting Twirling Lessons

I didn't understand you, my dear retablo,

Dancing your magical, spiritual, love filled lessons

With your twirling, twisting, outstretching arms

Every morning at six. 

Four years I stared at your dance,

But I didn't yet speak your language.

I didn't know that each twirl, each saint, each leaf

Taught through each twirl, each twist,

Each outstretching of a hand or leaf.

Faithfully, I followed the rules the teachers in black cassocks,

and stiff white collars demanded.

I memorized their lessons while not understanding yours,

In your twirls, your swaying hips,

And your twisted, twirling sing song language.

I stared at your dance every morning at six

I inhaled the incense, sang songs of praise,

Folded my hands and prayed.

And still did not understand your twirling, twisting language.

You snaked your lessons around and around.

You danced and twirled louder and louder.

But I didn't hear your undulating, snaking language

That you danced for me every morning at six.

I stare now at a photo of your twisting snaking dance,

Frozen for four hundred years.

Again, I see your undulating, snaking

Twirls and swirls, and your outstretched arms.

Now each morning when I get up at six,

I rise and ride above twirling snakes

Along the river, under the snaking clouds

Who continue your lessons in a

Language I am almost old enough

To understand.

I love to dance and twirl throughout the day

With my undulating, snaking body

Re-interpreting the lessons

You tried to teach me

Every morning at six.