Dance Lessons

(It is a process: understanding life. We do it in family. In dreams.

In thought and writing.

Even dancing.)

Try to see beyond my blindness.

Say it's all good.

What eyes now blind me?

Oh listen! It's ticking.

Tapping. Clicking

So much to write

Caution to the wind.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

In gusts of hot air

and white-wood fuzz.

Nothing that words will fit.

Membership in the life club: Savants.

One word, idiot, comes to mind.

But I love me anyway.

In my impatience.

Fingers dance in broken steps.

Mind penetrates the dance floor

of plastic and glass.

Not good -- till sunset.

Oh magic.

But I can feel it now

like Mom's silent prayers,

so loud, nothing else sounds,

but the absence of Dad.

Payday. And The Outrigger.

He's home other nights.

Dinner. Chores. News in black and white.

All is good, not thinking about it.

So it is a dance of dreams.

Commencement and light.

If I made this, I made it with he

who was my brother.

Father, Mother.

Two step. Or square dance.

To penetrate the dance floor.

Or is it the ceiling? Translucent.

Light breeze. White curtain.

They are both there now.

A visit after sunset.

In prayer and The Outrigger.

The music we wrote

and learning to dance.

Not easy but sweet.

These lessons of love.

Still learning.

© 2013 Ardi Keim 6/28/13