to the night in the church, dancing till our limbs, dripping with sweat,
became heavy as hammers
and closed forever the lid
to the grave of our Lord.
May it ever be vacant.
May we ever dance when we remember,
may we ever rejoice at His name.
A girl in grayscale polka dots,
a girl dressed all in red,
a girl too short to ask to dance,
a girl that spun my head.
She wore her golden camisole,
I wore a holey tee.
I almost got the guts to ask
that girl to dance with me.
She spun away, beyond the grip of subtle verbal queries,
and into that oblivion, where
the sound is never carried.
I danced tonight, Chicagoland,
I danced all over you.
I worshipped resurrected Kings, the One, in fact (not two).
My heavy arms were burning and my legs forgot to breathe. My head was foggy as the church like fuzzy TV screens.