je suis encrulee
and I don;t have the energy
to look up the right words

i'm drunk
and the human heart
is a stupid thing
that can go die in a fire

I allowed people to glimpse
At a place where I kept secrets;
But now where shall I hide the tales
I do not wish to tell?
Where shall I sequester
The stories their eyes can't see?

I am not a good dancer because I am skilled.

I know many steps,
and can follow many more
(there the question:
         what defines a dance I know?
         if I can follow a lead
         or teach it to someone new?
         because those get very different answers.
         Perhaps I'll ask that of someone.)

There are skills
I have built into my body,
filed away like tools,
used and honed
with constant happy practice.

That alone
does not make me a Good dancer.

Dance is Joy,
or the expression thereof
          (and no glum-faced
          easy-A-er will convince me otherwise)
and that is why
dance is also Beautiful.
It grasps at the wonderful reasons
to manipulate the human body
          (and isn't it a little strange
          how we can somehow also
          find joy in sorrow?)
Communicating to the watchful eye

Without Joy,
without Life,
Without some little spark of the divine fire
why would anyone want
to participate in dance
or even merely spectate?

Young men spin me compliments
as they spin me on the dance floor;
I smile and save them for later
for Being Joyful
is not something I have the words to explain.

A little voice,
it asks me to stand alone,
To stand tall and proud
under my power
for I need no other mortal
to aid me.

I need no blustering air,
to blow about without thought
and throw me into confusion and disarray

I need no rushing fire,
fluttering and beautiful,
to unthinkingly burn and overwhelm

I need no flowing water,
so desperate and craving,
to cover me in cold that drains life

I will be earth,
solid, sure, steady, dependable.
I will not move unasked,
not give up what is not owed.
A nature that nurtures,
coaxing life and love
to throw color across landscapes
and to warm souls.

I gave up my heart,
thought it a trade,
but then it was drowned,
burned,
suffocated,
but I think I would surrender it again.

I was born to earth,
(or so those who listen to stars
tell me)
so I should be grounded.

It's the thing I need most,
after all-
to be grounded-
when air runs away
and the world presses in
and everything's trying to kill me
and i can't breathe
i can't feel-

I need earth
I need touch

I've been cataloging ways,
saving up survival tips,
for when the day comes
that demons strike
and there's no one to help
no one to breath for me
I'll be okay.
I want to be able to ground myself.

then i think of how nice it would be
to be grounded in a set of arms
even when happy

Dance is magic.
I know of little else that can take a man
who makes me smile,
and blush a little bit
into a handsome creature
that brings my hand to my chest
to stop my heart
from flying away from me.

That is, of course,
until he steps back off the dance floor,
invites me on to it,
and I myself transform,
becoming more than me,
a creature of Beauty.

I'm light as air-
flying about the floor
as a mobile mass of limbs
centered around a core-

A friend told me I walk like a dancer,
move like one,
even when there's no music,
for I lead with my rib cage as one whole unit,
taking my center, my core,
and sending that first,
letting the limbs follow along behind.

That's what I'm doing,
now,
in a desperate attempt to keep up
with the best horrible mistake
I've ever made -
asking a Lindy Hopper to dance
when it's a fast song-
but I am joyful,
as is he,
and as are those watching.

That's the point of dance,
n'est pas?

Courage.
I have it.
I tamped down the irrational anxiety,
screaming at me to stop,
and let the smooth music
glide me across the edges of the dance floor.

I almost chickened out when he saw me.

But I didn't.

I kept walking.

He met my eyes,
and at the same moment,
we slid towards each other,
hands outstretched,
and asked the other to dance.

It was one of the best blues dances
of my life.

May every blessing pressed to me
be turned instead
on the young couple
that's been married
for just under an hour.

May the sun shine as brightly on them
as the sunflowers
strung about the cathedral.