Arias of a Jewish cantor, throaty and deep

Eyes framed by Spanish lashes, passionate and that of a sphinx

Cerise hair framing her Moorish face, aerial as a fairy

Flitting among the Andalusian pines, of rosemary and thyme

It is the dance of the gitanos

Of passion and of desire

For the gypsies, the dispossessed

Sing not only of loss and of pain

But of hope and survival

The dance of the ever-burning flame

It begins simply at first

His raspy voice laying soul to the stage

Softly, exquisitely…

But suddenly a spotlight hits the floor

In the light, out of the melody, she blossoms

Her palmas tap the beat

The unique twelve-count beat

Organic, dynamic

Underneath the trill of the toque, the guitar

Musical raindrops that only feed the intensity

Flower of flame

For the singer, el cantante is the heart

But la bailarina, she is el alma, the soul

Crimson of her dress

Rosebud in her hair

Blood-red tint of her lips

Zapateado, toes, heels, soles

The stomps and clicks of the nails in her boots

Furious with feeling against the wooden floor

Her body delicate yet strong

Her back, a sensual curve

Arms, muscles tense

Hands and fingers, precisely arced

And yet her skirt whirls around her

Whips of color, accentuating

Uncontrolled, beautifully free

Unfettered by suffering, rising high with triumph

Flames bursting into fire