All is a flowing dance,
masterful, sublime, pacific.
The wind and sun are music
keeping time with grace.
Feather grass heads
are reminders
of how I might be moving.
We could live.
The dogs barking:
aware
of something greater.
I listen and am warmed
by sunlight on my arms.
I struggle to put
big round thoughts
into flat little phrases.
I will not be understood;
poetry helps.
My mouth is my ear,
speaking.
My ears are open, speaking
silence.
Critiquing the world I live in
gives me wrinkles.
Rather, I will stand beside it,
glow my own way
and dance.
When the black is what I see
I know it is time to drown,
going under,
buried in fertile soil.
I am rich with it,
bursting with new growth;
above and below
are building in me
new meridians.
The birds’ song is tireless
while the sun is warm:
they are happy and they sing,
breaking only to fly.
If a giant were to walk
through the streets
would she trip over
power lines?
If I can
I will dance every day.
My body, my voice,
my hips my lips:
I will learn this new language.