Poem
At the beginning of Ecstatic Dance last night, N and J played some very tranquil, serene music, and we had about 10 minutes to write a poem from ourselves as very old women and men, at the end of our lives, to ourselves now, about what makes us dance. This was mine. I am usually very afraid of death, and I'm very glad that in this poem expresses such a serenity about the end, about who I am as a person, and about being alone.
Letter
I like to see the leaves brushing against the glass
and the rain sliding down the window panes
The branches are graceful, like I used to be, and like I still am
as my hands conduct an invisible quartet
The room is lined with books; a fire burns in the grate
and it is ok to be alone
it is peaceful and life is full
Friends are in my heart , though they are far from me
And love is an idea that is very good.
The rain ends and the last yellow of the sun, bright as egg yolk, deep as saffron,
pales and fades, giving way to stars.
Letter
I like to see the leaves brushing against the glass
and the rain sliding down the window panes
The branches are graceful, like I used to be, and like I still am
as my hands conduct an invisible quartet
The room is lined with books; a fire burns in the grate
and it is ok to be alone
it is peaceful and life is full
Friends are in my heart , though they are far from me
And love is an idea that is very good.
The rain ends and the last yellow of the sun, bright as egg yolk, deep as saffron,
pales and fades, giving way to stars.