This has never happened
that things are the way they are
because they could not turn
The dancers, staged to question,
improvise.
What could be more real
than the body?,
when individual expressions
become an ensemble’s
disclosure through
form’s achievement
a dream of scattered presence
re-assembled
and for the self (which is the audience)
original emotion
shaped by attention
focused every instant
here, where we are, as we are
*
The dancers
are floored
to start, heaps
that separate
into the limbs
of trunks
tunneling
air, narrowing
proportion
in a wanton
flurry of leaping
motion
triumphant
grace of simple
lines no one
knew were drawn
*
You carry your feet
with your breath,
lifting the pounding heart
from its cavity,
and ranging with intent
over a prophetic space
knowledge cannot reach
to put a hand on
*
There are no lights,
but lit by wrist and fingers
upturned faces
display moon masks
until the shoulders drop
and the arms flare
as elbowing wings bank
into a spiral flight
hips pivot through
i like the part about the lines no one knew were there.
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