While we danced together, we chatted
“Dancing is an escape,” I openly said.
Your response “How” followed me home
on the drive, and eventually my bed.
Storms have caused dark rising tides
to nibble at the edges of who I am.
Beaches with shells washed away
it doesn’t discern or give a damn.
So I’ve retreated, reduced emotions
to the necessary minimum to endure
that ever beating surf out there.
My body no longer feels so secure.
Conceding terrain I’ve pulled back
to these most durable parts of me
steep enough to breach the clouds
hiding the tumult of a covered sea.
So, welcome to my peaceful place
while I lead you lightly in a turn
around my escape, my tether to a home
to which I one day will want to return.