I will let you
chase me across
the dance floor of dreams
where every dance
is a message to
the future.
And if you catch me
we might tango into
some delightful and
suggestive liaison,
twined together for now
and maybe for then.
The music moves
in the air like dust,
shimmering in the
brightness of our being.
We can dance, or not,
it will make no
difference whatever but
we shall never
move like this again as
we did not then.

Off we go
in tango time
off we go.

So,
this is where we are,
hiding in this house
from what?
Mortality?
Uncertainty congealed
in sickly moments,
knowing one thing but
also another.
And then, of course, the not knowing.
The universe seems so still
but it ripples constantly.
Yes it does.
Everything moves and yet
seems unreal.
We are hiding but
cannot hide from this:
that no meaning will emerge,
no purpose will appear
and time will deceive us all.