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