Time slips in the pulsing.
Days blur into weeks,
mercury beading up and bouncing away.
Each pulse, another moment,
another year of my life bleeding like watercolors.
The Earth changes and changes and changes,
and how could I not join in,
how could I not?
I am lost,
and I am found,
but this isn't any kind of grace.
It's just dancing.
Through the doors,
through the many many doors,
shifting my weight and bending my arms,
turning with the flow and raising myself up.
I'm just dancing.
