Occasioned by The Buenos Aires Dancers
The way you rearranged your thighs
the night we met, the way you said
This slow sad dance could make you cry,
confuses me, brings back that night,
your nakedness, the unmade bed,
the way you rearranged your thighs
and slowly pulled me down inside
the growing darkness in your head.
This sad slow dance could make you cry
the way our lives grew intertwined,
the sudden, restless way you left,
the way you rearranged your thighs
when I asked why. Your awkward lies,
the sullen, twisted way you said
This sad slow dance could make you cry.
Your helplessness. The way you died.
Your papery, impatient breath.
The way you rearranged your thighs.
This slow sad dance could make you cry.
AND INDEX FINGER, LIKE IT'S A WAFER.
IMAGINE IT’S YOUR FIRST COMUNION.
EVERYTHING TURNS TOWARD THE SUN.
I'M IN THE KEYS AGAIN. ONE OF THOSE
CEMENT-BLOCK BARS: DUST MOTES,
SEND A TELEGRAM TO CARL SAGAN.
TELL HIM HE'S MISSING THE POINT.