with palms inward yet expectant,
they are the paths to the corrosion, cleaves
that each rhythm maker has come to heal
in an act of unity.
Dance the union
The spray has
the ocean - the muscles an element
of deep dark and cliffs mocking
the innocents light.
Nothing of rock determines ways, only
the roof of clouds
dreamt in the run can choke the reality
of their journey.
Dance the touch
In the gloom the chaos
unravels, and the dark speaks:
Listen to the dark
The weaves of crevice are mouths to pasts,
the arteries to our tomorrows.
Dance the union of ancestor to the unborn.
Is the horizon
We will know