Every chance I get, I dance
Swaying to and fro to the sounds of my own music
My hips pop, crackling like kindled tinder
But first, I need a light
I wait patiently for it
A user not a beggar, accepting whatever offering comes my way
Once I’m warmed up, I sway
There is a myth that I let the wind move me
It isn’t true
My dance is a chase
Hunting air like a whale seeks kelp
Sucking it in – it’s life
My attire can change
It is often hues of yellow, orange, and red
The desert sunset confined to me
I often wonder if I should have a partner, a tango or a waltz
But the movement on my solo tightrope has too much appeal
My unrestrained rhythm needing no lessons, running no risk of misunderstanding
My only sorrow comes when the night or the occasion or the private rendezvous comes to an end
The gust is released
My fragile grip slips
I’m cast off my line without a harness, like a spider dislodged from its web
I’m always ok
Ego bruised more so than anything else
I bid my time for that next dance
For that hand to offer me a light
Chris Kauzlarich 