into the end

dance me to the end of a lie pt. v

The moon over East Village

“The undoing of what we never knew was done might be the greatest journey of our lives: the long walk back to the beginning. ”

— Kristin Diable

So dance me to the end of this performance.

Dance me to the end of this long migration,

and the end of these sleepless nights.

Dance me into my own confession

where art is the sound of life, and time is a cup

of hours I pour into the grass.

I never wanted more than the space to witness —

it’s what I’ve tried to make of what I’ve seen

that has emptied me.

So much living lost in the record…

***

Dance me to the bed, into the last hour

of this old life. Dance me out of my shoes

and into the end of every project. Dance me

to my first suitcase and my first train out of home.

To the last box and my first time unliving the long story

of a woman resolving every fear with escape.

Dance me to the end of what I don’t know

is ending. Hold me — between once dance and another

where burial and birth blend in the pause

Dance me to a simplicity that scares me, where art —

if it’s made at all — becomes the dance and not the war

that keeps me from it.

a burial

Washington Square