Dancing which leaves no trace,
like tears which have run their course,
and left lightness in their wake;
we dance when we can’t speak
by the window next to the place
where a drunk
left skid-marks on the street last week
crashing someone else’s stolen car.
Dry-eyed we dance.
The music. You kiss my hair.
A feather. Our feet are lighter.
You said dancing
with you must be like dancing
with an anaesthetized bear,
a rolled-up carpet.
Not true. It’s an ocean.
I swim I swan I swoon up your leg.
Turn and spoon,
rocking comfortably
like driftwood.
Green wind touches light curtains
in the month
that promises pomegranates
but delivers rain,
and my body’s wedged
into yours,
hip nestled into hip,
arm to waist-curve.
Moments like these
I want to die and leave no trace.
I want to go out dancing,
one small step left,
then moving lightly off
this earth into whatever comes next.

© by Alison Luterman. 
Used with the author’s permission.