Apr 162012
 

Dancing makes a motion of its own.
My ears are dense with music of the known;
What notes the moment’s inner ear can sow!
How like a planet a swaying body goes:
Orbiting we dance, and in such dancing flow.
Is there a blessing in these moves that move us so?

My mother used all her days to make amends,
Yet all her days were not enough to spend.
What moves in us moves without an end,
A dance between the register-marks of stars
Whose spheres revolve high music to the ears.
–We keep turning to become just what we are.

Is there a blessing in these moves that move us so?
Dancing makes a motion of its own.

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