Moving together, dance (a poem)

Monday, February 2, 2026

The work falls away. The world blurs.

Bass gallops. Bongos bark. Clicks and plucks spark like knuckles on bone.

Air shoved through throats— voices rubbing, finding each other near the end because they have to.

Shake. Shiver. Shudder.

The wiggle of us forcing a shape, breaking it, forcing another.

Posture snaps. Spine bends. Bough breaks. Bow dips. Curtsy forgotten halfway down.

Heel–toe. Miss. Catch. Again.

Spin too hard. Laugh. Grab a wrist. Steal momentum from another body and run with it.

Press. Shove. Grip. Release.

Hands linger longer than they should.

A pet. A test. A dare.

This is public. This is allowed because it’s moving.

Eyes on us. We feel them. We don’t stop.

We are absorbed while it’s happening. Installed mid-motion. Filed later.

We jump the floor— claim territory by crossing it.

Bodies in unstable orbit. Near-collisions. Sweat as atmosphere.

The world pretends this is a stage, but it’s a clearing— a brief agreement to let the animals out.

Watch us say it without words: we are alive, not your product, not your problem.

Wild alive, but listening— keeping time so nobody gets hurt.

Pulse. Pulse. Pulse.

Hearts slamming into the earth’s rhythm until the ground answers back.

we moved together

we come out richer for it