“Where is the love? ” you asked, but I
could find only splinters and broken shards
lying desultory in dusty corners
of old and empty rooms,
fragile glass reflecting broken images
of we that used to be.
For the rooms were small and cramped,
their edges hard and sharp,
too easy to strike and give oneself pain
when trying to dance again and again.
If you would love me, do so in the open air
where walls and corners and edges are not found;
where there are no echoes, for the world is round;
where there are no mirrors, for there is no glass;
where you and I forever will be dancing on the grass -
Dancing, dancing, mon amour, dancing
to the trees on the horizon that are dancing in the breeze -
to the light on the ocean that is dancing through the night -
dancing to the end of the world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.