In the still, early morning,
when high fog masks
what the day might become,
in the span before colors
start to emerge from shadowed forms,
the internal song
and the heart of movement
rise up in the pre-dawn light

I must not direct this motion
lest I stifle it,
lest I frighten it away with expectations  –
I can only present myself, willing,
bare feet to the floor,
and feel what happens

And the song starts up,
or maybe the movement first –
they incite each other,
and that consciousness I know of as my body
rides in the perfect harmony,
expressing, not inventing,
exploring, not directing,
making the dance its own,
knowing as it is known.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 8, 2023