A hum in the open mouth
of a cut guitar,
eye's dwelling captured by fools,
death on the march in your body's gaze,
your birth-cord troubled by electricity,
you fall down.  Nothing follows
for a long time.  Room opens up
into room.  Death opens into life.
Someone will share the dance you missed
with another.  Someone will finish the drink
you put down, never to return to the party.
Solo dancer inhabits all who hung
in solitude to breathe,
and they in him like a blade,
his carving hand broader than the land
godlike and horrible.