When words took on shapes
and bodies spoke,
with outstretched arms,
with dancing eyes,
with the flick of a wrist,
with that slight turn of the lips,
with a raised eyebrow,
when hands and feet
and hips and fingers
sculpted stories,
retold histories,
spelled out sounds
without consonants or vowels.
When we did not need language.
And when we did,
we let go of ourselves,
stripped memories from our skins,
and left them out to dry
in the naked light,
some stories dripping tears,
some drenched with laughter.
When we stood just for what we are,
letting everything show
without hiding behind a screen.
When we gave in,
laughing and crying,
falling and failing,
Fred Astairing our way around blunders,
glistening with our bare vulnerable selves,
we became candles burning with raw emotion,
our moves learning
to echo and mirror each other,
and sometimes
complementing the other
by just being.
Grains of thought 