ditto

welcome

did you expect nothing? I guess I did, must have been the realist in me

The night is late and the tree is still up.

I look toward its frightening lights (lightning? lightening?) and would like to cry

or fill the whole house with smoke so much

i can’t sing or think.

It is like dancing

it is always like dancing

that’s all we ever do is dance and think about the space our clothing makes

and even the tiny space the air makes

between us no matter how close we sway

girls love to dance.

One day I shall find a husband who dances

and won’t let me rest my feet

till all know I am only his to dance with

until then the bar is a place i sit and

look out the frost windows

at the speckled lights and the others walking home with something

i don’t know about.

The floor will be filled and I will dance here

and there, new for me

and think of that space, that dead space

where you and I can only exist

between spins and twists

the dead space in winter

and the streets are filled with snow, everything like a game

and I laugh empty in my car to no one

sometimes my dog

and wonder at my lonesome, mourning the moments I do not

think of God and wonder of your face

trying to forget it like it was never supposed to make sense and all this

was a dream, fumbled by the reality of daylight.

I’ve listened to more music this month than all year.

One day I will not be here glaring and weeping to the most beautiful tree I have seen

from another room and I will be dancing

not remembering, just spinning, caught up

in the closeness of a love who can hold a flower

even in winter, dead petals and all