for THE HUDDLED

This never happened,

that things are as they are

because we changed

out of jumpsuits.

 

Dancers, staged to question, 

improvised.

What could be more instrumental

than the body?

 

One person's expressions

become an ensemble’s

disclosure through 

abandonment of form.

 

We dreamt of scattered presence

re-assembled 

and offered to the self 

(of the audience)

 

Original emotion, 

shaped by attention

and instantly focused  

here, where we are, as we are seen

 

      *

 

Bowls sang

for the huddled 

dancers, flawed 

on the floor, 

uncoiling heat's 

prodding impetus

 

Sky as always cold

Each silver breath

a struggle

for memories

etched, then 

released,

 

separating

into limbs

and airy 

trunks of bodies

widening

proportion,

 

a wanton 

flurry of leaps

no taking eyes off

motion

triumphant by

grace of 

simple lines 

 

their crescendo of voices

a skin trade

across the mirrored 

sphere aflame

 

      *

 

You touch your feet

with your breath,

 

ranging with intent

in prophetic space

 

knowing the cue 

to put a hand up

 

      *

 

There are no lights,

but lit by wristbands

and polished nails 

upturned faces beam

 

in moon masks

until the shoulders droop

the back relaxes

and the arms flare

 

as elbowing wings bank

a spiral flight 

hips pivot 

into birth throes

 

    *

Wrapped in a dead rabbit’s weight

“I don’t need to be needy”

Stumbling off to prey

upon shadow’s crystalline contour

Ready to own this

(isn’t the civil war)

 

Wary of intelligence

at far remove

we all have a part

in Eating Death.

 

    *

Aphoristic phenomena set

A twig of brain

Glowing

Into honeycomb

 

Love lengthened

For sweetness

A season’s snow

Pouring into the river

 

Fields, roads,

Again flooding

        

Edits and additions made through Oct 22, 2024