Every night it circles around
We park our words next to each other
Hoping to catch spirits in flight
Holding patterns
Runways too short to clear
Every night circles about me
In quiet destitute
Waiting for signals to land

These hands have a memory of it's own
They remember the thin belt around your waist
They hold as our bodies shifted to music and rhythm
These memories are recast into dreams
Years later I dream that I danced