the methodic tap of
Vans on pavement,
an uninspired pencil
on a blank page,
a heartbeat before
leaping into flight
from the highest of the high dives,
the old clock
in my grandmother’s house…

a rhythm
it starts with a rhythm.

and then,
with the abruptness of an electric shock
from a key in an outlet,
with the impact of
a Hollywood explosion
that makes you jump in your chair,
you begin to move,
twist,


turn,
curl,


fold,
snap,


fly,
in directions you didn’t even know existed
and it’s not until moments later
that it hits you;
this is what it feels like to dance.