In Ang Lee's film
Crouching Tiger,
Hidden Dragon,
they dance as they speak,
through perfectly
punctuated
violences.
Among the moonlight's blue
They glide over rooftops,
Like marionettes
Swaying through ballet
In graceful precision;
Where they rendezvous,
It is an explosion of will.
In the leaftops,
He chases her
Through the bending swerves
Of bushy green,
Where they scrimmage,
Swaying, dancing,
To the indigo music of trees.
-1/21/01 |
