The painter stands apart from the painting
The poet lays aside the parchment
The sculptor steps back from the statue
Each, in turns applies craft upon an object
Releasing it, complete and whole
They remain.
Where then, do we find the line separating the dancer from the dance?
Body, spirit and movement are at once creator and creation
The dance exists only with and only in a moment of movement
And in its incessant demand to be, the dance will – always does –
Consume the dancer leaving
Him draped across the floor
Her broken over the chair
Leaving them worn thin in each other’s arms
Only able to gasp a memory of remembering
The dance, only shadows of their life
Gone
Is the dance
As the dance continues upon
Another
one, two, three…