Who doesn't want to dance?

Who doesn't
want to dance
to be inside the body
not somewhere beside it
to feel the arms and legs
hot and clean in a clear lake of air
like fins, as though every limb
were a fish for a moment
free of water out of the world-
the body, strange as a planet
reeling in its own soft sparkle

Who doesn't want to dance
to let the body go gracefully mad
to fall into the music as though
from a cliff- every muscle a feather
every three feathers a bird every bird
bald blind and falling
as though the fall itself were the dance
as if the music were a cusion of air
a wind holding you up as though
in motion the body is a leaf is a
new fabric better than feathers better than water

Who doesn't want to remember the feet
to wash them in music
to feel gravity's tireless kiss
bringing you back, pulling you in
as if there were only you and the earth
and music were the sea
and the body were a small ship with lungs
as it sails- as though breathing
were dancing and dancing were living
and living enough. Who
doesn't want to dance?

-Timothy S. Seibles