the dance

Among the dolmens of the barred cage

two degus turn each promenade in stage:

to acknowledge reciprocal recognition

squeak and jump with settled fiction,

allowing each other the time to feel

that all is done in play and display

of teeth and arched back that delay

for the other to attempt the same,

as the thrills in the sneaking tail reveal

the closing of time apart with the zeal

in the wishing for a jointed journey

among the dolmens of their survey.

 

It is a dance that they carry

with the thoughts each one infers

from its life revived in the other's

in hopes and despairs left to tarry.

 

To the passing viewer it might seem

all taken out of proportion, with its

heats and beats low to contemplate

the two tiny balls of fur that maintain

in their ritual of balancing motion

all the engendering space for the fire

that any emblematic thought discerns. 

 

Yet no viewer is excluded 

from being in their dance

as it all starts to revolve anew

from bristly hair on shaking limbs

to blood restoring archaic visions

closed on the touches that unfolded

labyrinths the skin lost its minotaur in;

the reciprocal kisses that accommodate

scents of mutual absence to compile

the inviolable substance of the soul

around which the rest imprints itself

with clear differences that the source

do not conceal nor betray,

as the cheeks given once on trust

to lips that shrank toward illusory speech

that of all passages have made presage 

of dolmens where kisses still have

the taste of faithful recognition.

 

There is no more the cage and the outside,

the viewer is in the inside and the magnitude

of caressing degus is the firmament of all freedoms,

imprinting its generative motion

on the nourishing spin that from forms

has exhaled the dance that governs

levelled poses and unravelled turns 

in the pace of dreamed chord around which

noises will become the choir of the conducting pitch.