Monday, October 29, 2012

A compliment.

Dance.  I'll remember you differently.

There is no platonic research, no rehearsal. Nor,

Can you come early, nor respond

I have the flu,
I'm old

I was never right beside you.

Gloomily, I turn a weak faucet on my feet.
The suspense of my steps thrills me--

But I see them as they are, one as conspicuous
and unclear as the next.

I know which step follows the right after
so long--

And you,
Are so strange to everyone for whom

We dress and wish.

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