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∴

i am not an end
to be achieved

nor am i either
a solution.

so why
should i look
thusly

in you?

 

no,

it is a dance;

to which we do not set the tune,
nor the rhythm of the drum,
nor the timber of the voice.

we only move

and move,

 

sometimes together,
sometimes alone,
across this marbled court.

 

at times in unison,
as if we knew the steps to take,

at times in disaccord
and bumping.

 

if there was no end –

not to us
nor the music –

would we move less franticly
and with greater precision?

 

i wonder.

 

i wonder if we did not ceaselessly
dread the end of tunes,
or speed them through
to be done,

would the song
we all must move to
be more sweetly sung.

∴

 

 

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