Skirting Edges Beyond The Black Curtains Of Death Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Not being seen out on the dance floor, but left-hand fingers
are swinging and tapping energetically with an intense pur-
pose of being.

A searching look into the forest and deserts of this earth,
taking off, skirting edges beyond the black curtains of death,
knowing there's plenty of time for dying later on.

Not wanting to spoil the fun we're having now together, in-
stead, jumping, kicking and taking places in the formation
of lines in music, never backing or sitting down.