The Dance

The days come and go
another winter drizzle
laughing --
I think of mice in the walls
of houses
all that scurrying about
and what serious objectives
move them.

The days go and come
another year rolls in
grinning --
I think of poets and lovers
and all the horror movies
I've ever seen
wondering why
we drink the gore and blood
as if it matters.

The day
comes and goes
quickly --
I think of you
and wonder how many lives
we've lived, how many times
our paths crossed, the touching
of hands
so commonly common
as if dying held no meaning
we take up the dance again.

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