The Play

It's in the dance that life is found, lived and lost

 

The Play

 

In the center of the stage

we turn, we dance, we sing

the light seems to illuminate.

We can see through each other

our gaze is the only constant

jump, move, bow

but always from an angle 

that allows our eyes to stay,

constant contact.

 

The theater is full

the spectators

some grumbling,

some scratching their heads

some standing,

fist shaking.

 

To us there is no one in the room

we are locked in an eternal play,

only mortality will break this dialogue,

this stage has many props

they come in on cue

some we have to dance around

they came in out of turn.

 

The stage lights becomes dark

then shine bright again,

yet our movement never ceases

hands touch, feet are grasped

pirouette and bend

we are always geometric

beautifully postulated love.

 

The room like a geranium

hot, moist and dripping in the night

palpable air, sex and sweet favor under low light,

the day like a  NYC flat , 25th floor on the west side,

where light beams through the window

give life wisps of dust, 

we can see they have their own dance,

the floors are hard beneath our feet,

cool, strong, reassuring,

the light shows the goose bumps on our skin,

outside the sounds of life drive the beat

and we dance we act, we sing.

 

The spectators,

they start to see,

mumbling becomes clapping,

and shaking fists, smiles.

Notions of their hopes

of the acts rising action

vanish under the power

of the choices, turns of phrase

beautiful melodies that we create.

 

The world is our theater

because the world is,

only this moment, 

the one in our minds

that we share

the script we write,

by living each one, together,

through the dance we do 

sui sponte'

the acting we show

denouement daily,

we sing,

harmony is our tune,

everyday,

every night,

the play goes on

til

1

remains and

the play is done.