from studio window, i witness
the hill that has governed my life.
i breathe deep, roam the room on air-clad feet
remembering tweets from birds of freedom.
a warrior stance, my even breathing,
extend and contract in cause and effect.
i direct intent in wholesomeness,
each muscle in unison illuminates.
removed from the organic machine
that breathes and reads and seeks,
i keep time instead with sound,
and the tribal shout of my time-loss dance.
i dig deep/mine,
uncover shovels of love and good
once coiled at the base of the spine.
body-connected i contract,
effect a spider-entwine,
my sweat drips in a satisfied line.
endurance ensures that pain is good
as i strive and stretch to arrive at rest.
lights infer my body's guest
and the heart in throat slows.
elegance follows neutrality
and i relish the memory,
the adaptability that i have learned or earned
during the cracked flow of this journey.
movement provided the space for intent
and when i enthuse my path is correct.
weightless moments draw space,
the grace of movement never lies,
the ominous drum is my friend
and my own sweat has baptised.
i taste salt: observe again
the dark, partial shape
outside and decide; as earth to hill,
this dance is me, am i it's wife?
