Dance

Where logic ends the unknowable path begins
as fragile as a harp string
as robust as Lyssa’s anger

The unknown path is paradoxical
both and neither
as steady as a pine root's coiling force
as shifty as the buoyant gesture of your hair in the wind

We are not mad!
We know it
by the somnolence of a fish in the sea
by the intuition of unspoiled dogs
by the illogical dance of a paradise bird

My dear bird!

When your foot slip from the dancing trees' pinnacles,
people call you mad-bird don’t you worry
If dance is madness then all the dancing plants must have gone mad long before people existed.

Your crazy dance is innocuous
Your spins send breeze to our sad evenings

In the whisper of summer-tree leaves,
we see the similar dance
In the oscillating thunder voice
we see the dance of Gods

If dance was madness
how could the garden flowers save their seeds?
How could you make it to the depth of hearts?

This path is neither certain nor uncertain
Simply wise and beautiful
a voice from beyond emanating through your motions
a dance from the unknown visible in your frame

This path is both logical and illogical
It melds and blends both into one
If not,
why would all streams end up into one?

where thoughts come to an end
muse begins to sing
Where measurable forms fall
unfathomable and infinite rise in your dance