Can you dance?
she said,
coyly.
He thought quickly.
Where are my words now?
Surely, they will not fail me now?
In an instant,
he knew,
that the dance he danced each day
did not count.
He thought of the many moments that his truth
danced out of reach,
and his dancing words
hung,
swinging,
from the top of the business tree.
They dangled,
like participles
in a grammarian nightmare.
Can you dance?
Of course, he thought.
I dance around my feelings
every day.
If I stop to feel them,
I know that I will surely die.
Can you dance?
Oh, yes, I can.
What kind of dance would you like?
I dance the dance of the runner.
I run away,
and still away.
I dance the dance of the dreamer.
I wish for a slow and easy pace.
I hope that the music will follow my lead.
Can you dance?
Can you teach me?
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