IN THIS DREAM

We are always dancing:
you lift your arms above me
like a bird in a summery place.
Sometimes there is music
and the softest shadows;
other times the air carries us
through the rhythm of tall, flat buildings,
bright and steady in full sun.

How easily our bodies converse:
they compose songs, moving
now in unison, now
in complex and perfect harmonies.
We let them go. As they move
they leave everything else behind.

–Rebecca Weiner Tompkins


Poetry

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