Louisville Ballet dancer Annie Honebrink shares a poem about ballet rehearsal.

On their knees, tiny
little hands pressed against
the studio window,
wide eyes gazing with
wonder
at the dancers. Rehearsing.
All process and no arrival.
Not the dancers in
fancy costumes and layers
of makeup to hide
imperfections. The dancers with
stage-lights and scenery that
distract from the difficulty
of the art.
No. These are dancers with
sweat dripping down forehead,
neck, and back. Dancers
straining muscles to
push through the
difficult movement.
Dancers working
working
working
for a goal that will never-be-completed.
Dancers that once gazed with wide
eyes full of
wonder
at ballet rehearsals. And kept dreaming
dreaming
dreaming
until the dreams became work
and the work became movement
and the movement became art.
The art of ballet.
The art of dreams.