in the reaching comes the wobble, and its laugh.
beyond this silly dance is grace.
let us drink of that silent nectar.
and leap without hesitation into the dive,
spiraling slowly in
to where the rhythms of current and pulse
are indistinguishable.
mosquitos of misdirection,
they’ll buzz our ears;
learning to hear the uninterruptible song,
there lies our focus,
and, in time, they will no longer swarm,
as song and rhythm and spiral enfold us
in one movement.