A Familiar Dance

I take you to dance In your dress of blue. Santana’s black magic woman is playing tonight. Swaying to the music, I wonder about your true home, Your tangled story, your fine shelves of books. I have an ocean of questions but a thimble of time. Maybe The Art of War will be there. Maybe a classic of the ancients, something curious and modern, Written in ink dark, lustrous as your hair. I want to turn pages tonight, The secret histories rewritten To remember us… You walk away when the boun is done without a word. I, watching like a period becoming an exclamation point, Laugh, filled to the edge where the soul meets the body. We, the momentary.