You do know,
yes, you do know
what means
when the White Ones begin to dance.
Their wings they flip
and they flop
and the Air rises
to caress their pockets
in unnoticed swirls.
They dance
to every beat
from the right place
to the perfect place
to move.
A huge, spotless machinery –
eight voices mumbling at a time
what it needs to be said.
I want to be
I want to be a White Faerie.
A dainty Kiss when the children sleep.
Cottingley Fairies
(Algún día)