love’s last dance

does some sort of rebirth include love?

you know, the abating kind?

frozen goldbrown welltoasted leaves

or a regenerated love thawing,

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 rebirth embodies love’s lastdance,

some euphonic Viennesewaltz

gracing the grand Schönbrunn Palace ballroom,

or better yet 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 the act predetermined,

a precluded process of elimination

no options to cross off a 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,

still smoldering

6/6/2018