She was watching a painting move
she was sure. Figures stirred while painted trees
and porcelain girls were frozen. She could measure
her eyelashes by the curve of their silent necks.

They reminded her of geisha
but their colors were not alive
enough. There was no desperation
in the turn of their wrists, while the lovers 
flittered like the shadows 
of leaves.

Ballerina or geisha or water
lily – it did not matter.
They made her reckless.