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…