The Dance                                                                                

Oh tangled death,

I have come to see

on these steamy

sidewalks past

the midstream

of my life,

we were always,

                always dancing

                             in your spiny arms.

Those tangoed nights

of trance flirting

with illusion’s

flimsy daughter,

smoke-grime on her

tavern window

did not curb

                     your hidden

                     stepping.

                  Yes, we are dancing

                  even now while

                                                your rhythm ripples

                                                        on and on

through this stained-glass

dappled darkness...