eons ago, before my teenage body morphed,

before i became self-conscious, 

i loved to dance—all those middle-school dances, 

always dancing with the wrong ones,

too shy to ask the right ones. still, i loved it. 

high school—figuring it out. college—

too many woman swaying, white arms raised, 

to the rhythm, a dance-drought for me,

until colin. colin knew all the places, 

not the clubs, but the wineries and bars 

that dot wine-country where you might find 

a string quartet or line-dancing—

it's where i met marketa, no quicker way 

to get to know someone than by dancing.

~

bars are opening, the music live, 

a willingness to be among a crowd again.

a friend told me that you can never step 

in the same river twice. if that's true, 

will we have felt the shift, are we who we were

after a year suspended, after a life-hiatus?

wondering amounts to nothing. it's time to dance—

dance being what it is—a state of mind.