Thursday, October 6, 2016


Words make sentences that mean
nothing at all.
Not lately, anyway.

It was the way they cuddled and ripped the waves with their fingertips.
Almost invisible
they were.  
The mere fantasy of closeness without boundaries,
they were the chance,
the will,
the magic,
the flow,
the greatness of truth.

As if every breath was another eye in the chain. . .
a breath for life,
a breath for love,
a breath for pain,
a breath for hope
and a sigh for all
who step up,
who run in the sand,
who hunt ,
who fight to love again,
who stay
even if the world fell apart.

But words mean nothing at all
the same way tonight is another hole on the
canvas of her existence.
The music plays,
the stars ablaze,
the night is a quiet place for
the lonely dancer.
Her bones move with the rhythm,
and I, too,
dance to stay awake.
I understand how
every dream comes to an end
for another to start.

Let’s just dance.

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