Immaculate Dance
A poem
Right here — everything is quiet.
Our lips are the perfect color of flesh.
When we aren’t moving, we are still moving
— none of us reeling right now.
The room tastes like breath, & you
can feel the pores of your philtrum
flex against the force of atmosphere.
Look at your outstretched hand,
all of the sky you are carrying,
the silence of it, the untold riches.
Close your fist tight — now there is no room left,
just the creases where your fingernails
carve attention into obedience.
Right here is where we make a different choice.
Right here is where we start to believe.
Right here is where we are surprised
& the world spins & we lose our immortality
& the moment is perfect & we are perfect
right here in the song, this epistolary;
right here in the immaculate dance.
©️ Trapper Markelz 2024
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