We danced into a desert town,
Decided to stay all summer and breathe in smoke
Instead of looking for the mountains,
Instead of finding a skyline worth lunging for.

When I left I said don’t wait I’ll be back
And you said dance right back over here
My feet felt like oars, weighted, endlessly mobile.
Waterless.

Here’s a question.
What are oars in a desert?

Here’s a question.
Who goes dancing without a place to dance to?