improvisational contact points

autumn colors paint the redbricks yellow

sing the sweetness of the hereafter

in the dying leaves bursting

life into just a single point

of contact

wrist touching wrist:

stillness

man watches woman watching man

mirrors upon mirrors

of difference

in breath out breath

stillness

i'd cry out for everything but for nothing

until the still point moves the

point of contact

(it is only in one point)

wrist then arm then sholdure then back and suddenly

we are moving

wrestling leaping flying rolling

where can we go

but here

the true fallacy of nothingness made concrete; the wind

blowing through the leaves it is only

here

that we live

push away no hold back come close stay put

move

fall head first duck roll run still bleeding

come

you: never ending eyes

in that stillness of deep listening i

rest.

such intimacies -

the stranger

who touches your hair

like a lover

the man who lifts you

like a babe

the woman

who says come play

in the wilds

of the imagination

between the body

and the soul

the beckoning

under the blue sky

of a Meeting

Gathering

ah, to dance, to dance

to sway like laughing trees

and make poetry

of such silly things

as bodies

and minds

and lives

too briefly lived -

when each movement lasts forever

before tumbling into the next one such

stillness

as grace.