As darkness changes
and the moon finds her grace-filled cycle,
I wonder what will remain.

We turn the page.
Write the next chapter.
Move this.
Clean that.
Say hello to some.
While feeling the silence of others.

But don’t we all know
deep down in our soul,
that time has never been a straight line.

Progress is a myth.
And going back to when things were,
great again.
Is her twin.

Some say all we have is,

This.
Now.
Here.

Yet even in stillness,
Being cannot be fully held,
so we march on pretending.
And circle once again,
the loss of all that refuse to remain
and change.

Yet as the Sun lifts her gaze on a new day,
rains down her warmth on this worried and worn body.

Beloved,
might you happen
to reach out your hand and say again.

“Shall we dance.”