Little Elegy of Long-Lost Art—Refined Enchantment

With nimble wrists, well trained
till stillness itself turned fluid,

they used to swirl
the feather-and-frill of a fan
like a wand of mute music—

its silk hummingbird wings
now opening, now closing,
now landing, now lifting

breeze, calm, or passion
from a seashore gale—

presaged in gestures’
artful alphabet,
cast—soft spell—
into ivory silk of hands.