we are dripping away-
liquid feet on the linoleum-
shaking fists and rolling shoulders.
for despite the spiders in the attic
and ghouls in the cellar
we are grateful to be alive.
how else does one show it
besides curling your toes to
the beat of the snakeskin drum?
and in it, this boldness in the body,
brashness in the lying sun,
we are running, chasing after another
sky line out the balcony door.
our liquid feet the gateway
into new city, new brush.
for when the day comes that the rain pours down-
atop the caught hillside-
and it's from god, not our shower heads,
we will graze the sky with unclosed lids
having chased and ready to chase more.
the view from up here:
it makes you want to dance.