Ancient Speak
tlfrisch, 2004

I step across a chasm into
your waterfall but your drum
owns me. Husky whispers
warm more than cold limbs.

Dance with me, you ask.

Your arms become my anchor.
Rainbows spin into the night while
your fingers brush away fear
in ancient-speak.

Breathe with me, you say.

I understand your sacred drum.
The Earth turns. We do not move
in the dance, it moves us in the heat
and we become the rhythm.

I will dance with you and your
sacred drum, I say.

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