Tango-Poet

At times . . . The thinking animal cannot think, The speaking animal is speechless; The feeling animal, numb; The planning animal, hopeless. Then our emotions pour out into raw dance When the music forces us to tell our stories Of joy or sadness, Sanity or madness, Love or hate, Fortune or fate, Spiritual insight or Eros's delight, Then we dance . . . Because we, the animals who think , At times have no words To tell our stories. So we dance. Photo credit

I cannot compete with the best dancer. He embodies the music better than I, His embrace fits more nicely to my partner. His movements are excitingly new, And hewn from years of experience. But he cannot compete with me: My soul and hers dance to the music of love.

T he torment of a musician is that he strums out his heart so all can hear his soul. The torment of an artist is that no one knows the water colors were from her tears. The torment of a dancer is the horror of the cliff, merely the edge of the stage. Then there is tango--a torment-less duet of music-that-is-dance, an embrace of two. Meet the dancer