once, we were here…

We danced to the old music,
convinced we have nothing,
really. Nothing but ourselves.
Ours was not a dance of steps
but rather containment, a
dancing in place.
 
We danced in the arc of
memory, safe, swaying to
the dream of both men
and angels, the only dream
really: that something may
remain.
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
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