Death’s daughters dance

seductively

a slow strip tease;

their delusions draped

in our desires and discontents.

Without the diligence

to be dissuaded, 

I take delight

in every turn and twist

of their exigent dance.

With my attention split

between hesitation and fear,

I fool myself to think

my life is more, or less, 

than some other’s. Thus

distracted, I lay my hand

on the earth’s warm skin

to reassure myself again,

that I am still here.