Through the layers of time
to ignite the bones of my feet
My feet begin to pulse
spiralling through the space in between the bone
The balls of my feet undulate
as my ankles fold to my breath . . . follow the poem
Dance when you’re broken open. Dance when you’ve torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you’re perfectly free.
Struck, the dancer hears a tambourine inside her, like a wave that crests into foam at the very top, Begins. Maybe you don’t hear that tambourine, or the tree leaves clapping time. Close the ears on your head, that listen mostly to lies and cynical jokes. There are other things to see, and hear. Music. Dance. A brilliant city inside your soul!