throngs will come, throngs will press in on every side
at times this will seem like a mad frenzy, like the crush
of an angry mob
at times this will seem like the crazed
adoration of youth caught up in the throb of hearts
& hips & the rhythmic slapping of strings electrified
of heads lost to the pulse
at times this will seem like the faithful
going down to the river to bathe during holy days
but come they will
for who has seen such beauty
the beauty of the pure in heart, of the chosen
of a body that spins & dips
that catwalks & floorworks
through this crowded world for no other reason
than there are times when life makes the body sing
this verily is that
zhe will stand on the shores of a lake
at sunset, zhe will sit on the crest of a hill at noon
will pull away in the night to a mountain orchard
to be
but the stillness of zhe’s body will be heard
as a song, as a chant, a silbo gomero, a kulning