the day’s commute fades
embers pulse in the grate
work’s skin sloughs away
like soft ash in the air
the moon wanes the sun sets
a drum taps its rhythms
a side step to a back step
hand on hip and turn
we weave within them
trying to sing their song
as a river through a forest
or a mist between the trees
our arms outstretch and long
to encompass it all
(September 12, 2016)
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