At rest, she still is moving in her mind –
The world is music; dancing, though, brings life —
Through sobbing, shaking nights, alone and blind,
The world is rhythm-riddled, ever rife

Another way her body’s hers to move,
To synchronize it to her restive soul —
The point that’s only hers to know, or prove,
To feel safe in complete loss of control

The little jump, the larger leap of joy;
The turn, the double spin, the quick release —
The supplication of the fair envoy,
The drums of war, the spinning wheels of peace —

The music neverheard is ever-true:
And dancers dance, because it’s what they do