love's last dance
does some sort of rebirth include love?
you know, the abating kind?
frozen goldbrown welltoasted leaves
or a regenerated love that thaws,
forsaking an image of icefishing past the evening-freezing-sunsetmoon?
or does some sort of rebirth include love unrealized
a particle dream yet to come?
or a love unrequited,
drowning mermaids parched from salt thirst?
or maybe this rebirth embodies love’s lastdance,
some euphonic Viennesewaltz
gracing the grand Schönbrunn Palace ballroom
or a Havana cigar and daiquiri
machotango
sizzling and fusing souls cheektocheek,
each partner helplessly melting
conjoining in their passionate arabesque
and tell me
who draws up the guest list for this resurrection?
to measure…
…analyze
…weigh
to elect…
delete
or augment the dancers’ posture?
or is this act predetermined,
a precluded process of elimination
no options to cross off the list,
ultimately leaving the last wounded couple,
hand in hand,
carefully nibbling on bitter maror,
or sweet karpas chased with matzah,
yet craving chametz blueberrypie
hidden somewhere in a kitchen closet,
baking
6/6/2018