And yet the thought of dancing there makes the leap-
Part of the songs of sorrow collection
The smell of tea steaming in the air wants my hand to tremble. The icy ceiling of gathering clouds shivers the hearts of crowds.
This thought which would disassemble shakes the very air! Joined by course, or path, or care, along the way we amble.
And invent the thoughts of sadness and of pain and fall so deep within our self-invented sleep that peace and the breathing in of frozen air mean little, for we have little to spare.
And yet the thought of dancing there makes the leap- as if life came reaching in from the rain.