First the thread of birth and desire,
and the slow winding toward reason
at a series of smooth-topped desks.
A lust to move.
Waiting a long time for poise,
for someone to love me enough
to help with balance, then lured
by the line that leads to the center,
pulls, and lets me go.
My dance dressed up as hunger,
spinning like a moon in a dream of gold
and red flowers, a flame in the center
of the one word that is your axis.
Finally, the freedom to defy gravity,
at least for a little while, then the tilt,
the lilt toward forever.
Let me be your vision of circles,
possessive and faithful,
the heart of your wheel,
a singing bowl that fills
all negative space
with a resonant