Saturday, 5 July 2008


words come quietly
through propriety
or wincing rawness ~

I, placed so softly
in a crucible
hot as red cherries

sat quite still a while
before sudden shock
set me dancing

skipping, leaping
like a drop of spit
on cherry-hot metal

such strange alchemies:
dangerous to the

and now my words are
dully tentative
my skin's tenderness

rules tarrentellas
out, gigues, fandangos
likewise ~ however

the slow sarabande
I can still shuffle
til I've grown new skin

like a broken fox
whose leg will heal
or the trapeze king

who has missed the bar
I've learned this dancing
is a harder game

we forge on again
canny in the learning:
that uncanny dancing.

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