DANCE
Daily he watched her
a vigil of desire masked
by the suit, by the business
demeanor of the corporate
nineties, a faint tambourine
tingling the spine, kindling
a rhythm at the edge of
the mind
Daily he watched her
walking at lunch hour, bathed
in the sunlight denied other
women in the tepid, a-sensual
theater of our times
And the congas were playing
a clear primal rhythm, the
tambourine tingling the nerves
in the spine
One day he heard them
a murmur, a rumble
a great thunder growing like a
sonic volcano erupting from
soul to the center of the brain
Cymbals and snare drums,
tablas and tars, derboukas and
tom-toms, and timpani rising,
rich polyrhythms like adrenalin
and cunning somehow arming the
predator, the wild naked dancer
whirling and leaping with
flashing gold earrings and clicking
bone necklace as powerful
percussion destroyed inhibitions,
ignited the heat in the primitive
focus of his hunting and stalking
the Circean woman whom he
boldly pursued on airborne desire
as the fire of the drummers
burned hot in the city like flames
from the sun renegade in
the streets
Heartbeat
It was quiet
So quite that she could hear
The beating of her heart;
The clock ticking in the next room;
The winds knocking at the windows;
The Arabian waves
Rising, crashing and rising again.
And all of a sudden
There was a spring of sounds
The heavens opened their gates
And showered the lands with so much Love
That she could hear the earth
Singing songs of joy
Ecstatic the air played the flute
Silent roofs transformed into drums
Droplets made little Tablas
Out of all the pebbles they touched
And the mud filled with love
Smiled, jumped and danced
With every single drop
All sight was art, all sound was music
Everything was in synchrony
And after that it was quiet again
So quiet that she could hear
The beating
of the heart
That was one and everywhere.