Our dirt’s core though cool to our feet and well-hidden, flows in its own beat.
Slowly inward, around, out, around.
Sometimes from afar, it entertains our eyes,
displaying bursts of its powerful movements at mountain tops.
Quickly it falls, slowly it rolls
Treacherous to still things.
Even the fleeing things may be held to join in for their last roll.
The nights’ speckles in their infinite space,  dance in our distant eyes.
To be near them will only be consuming
but what peace this brings to those before their last dream.
The enchanting blaze
Though it stands alone ,  still it dances.
It’ll reach out if your hand hover’s near,
A shame no enjoyment fills us if it grabs one for a twirl.
Let it twirl, let it roll
Not every dance needs a partner
Not every dancer needs a guide.
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