"TO HELL WITH THE REVOLUTION IF I CAN'T DANCE."
This title is a line by Emma Goldman
By Ruth Daigon
In a place between places, she
bathes
in miles of wind with milk-
white linen to wick her
dry.
Out of wild pockets through spiraling
light into
ardent worlds
she searches for him, humming
I am your
match,
your mate, your other self,
the dark inside where
sight fails.
When they meet, he invites
her to the
dance
and their myth begins.
With greenglass hearts
and
untamed thunder, they
dance past the left hand of light,
air
still, time slack,
as the sun ticks
and the rain hums take it
easy.
Past the eyes of the forest,
the tongues of the sea,
they drift
over earth's spine
timing steps to ghost music
where love spins its web in a wind
anchored in thorns.