When all else fails —> dance

I’m going out dancing tonight and we will be practicing our Viennese waltz.

Viennese Waltz — natural turn

It’s like flying
or falling.
Each step a revolution.
The planet tilted
too much.
Sunlight far off.
Clouds strangely graceful
even as the storm
She says, lean back further.
Enough to contain
the rotation.

The ballroom is wide
as a plain. I’m a sapling
and he is the wind.
Sometimes I touch the floor,
toes starved for solid ground.
Sometimes I leap.
Every other step a lock
as though leaves
can be caged.

He is vertigo.
The darkened tornado
peeling my meadow.
The sky falters but I hang on,
fingers lodged in his bones.
I am a white birch.
I am a falling

I am a spinning
leaf, spiked
with rain.

Written this past April 2011 during NaPoWriMo, this poem is part of a manuscript of ballroom poems, though one could argue they’re also love poems. Yes, I’m a sentimentalist.

photo credit: Vladimir Pervuninsky, “The Viennese Waltz.”

Edited to remove embarrassing public whining. You see, it all started with—. . . . . you know what? Never mind.