I don’t mind dancing like a wounded shorebird,
my torn and worn parts
plucking a path through the invisible silk of the world.
Dance sometimes looks like an old vine clinging to a stone wall -
staggering in every direction, doubling back on itself,
down or up, it doesn’t matter,
dance is discovery unbound.
I can love that I’m made of broken things, even though it hurts sometimes.
My body is still willing to become a river,
carrying me forward, deeper into being.
I’m as blessed as the day I was born,
wandering from one pool of light to the next,
never begging for wonderment, always feasting.
