Where I am matters not as much as where as where I come from. You may have found me now, a sea-green and shining bottle floating in the froth, laboriously sighed out in high tide, but my journey has been long.
I stumble across a fire opal in the middle of the highway and pick it up and there’s a honey-bee buzzing inside. The opal is the honey-bee. And as I hold the bee in my hand, all kinds of flowers and roses and honey pour out of it and the bee turns into a nightingale and bursts into song as the first star of evening pricks the lilac edge of the horizon.
We had danced when I first visited Berlin. I was surprised that It Guy had wanted to dance with me. I was still operating under OSYankee.
But when I returned to Berlin I had upgraded my operating system to OSPirateQueen, so I was not surprised when he wanted to dance with me all over again.
Flashing lights illuminate
sweaty, exuberant faces
and I tilt my head back
reaching my arms to the ceiling
and examining my fingers
as they intertwine
and create their own dances,
as though aware of some other rhythm.