Nascent, sage, gulfs of air
The dancers emerge over the salt flats
sway "there is a summer"
say "the rain, it was no dream"
what they know they have in hand, they love
the human room, its basket of apples
legs clamor between
histories waft in, grafted
in the moment to a ray of skin
"into the open well of centuries"
fly bodies cupping wreck and wear
grasping tufts, a thought
break upward to feel, green wings flee
heavy slips free, slit and cross-press
what isn't blessed, fresh-running
"the dream is blood"
surrounded or not
torque release plot
the dancer folds suspended
there alone, half-known