The waves that did not reach the shore
failed to compose a line where land leaves sea behind
a place of reaching and never quite attaining
when you stand on the tips of your toes and can touch the ceiling
it does not mean the room is too large
When you dance in the silver light of a moonlit night
the wind pulling the veil across your features
monochromatic arousal controlled by the tips of your fingers
the music falling along behind you like confetti
as your smile leaps from the dull air of the afternoon and beckons on toward the evening
a gentle sigh erupts from sleep and the way in which his arm falls
tales of abandoned trees and forgotten villages
in the frame and out of the picture
dancing at the end of ttmes together
arms interlocked but bodies rolling in opposite circles
lips passing never touching
eyes drift upward with disbelief
the news saddles them with regret
the music no longer played
the mandolin gathered dust under the staircase
in separate rooms they draw curves in the vacant air