A Slow Dance

It’s my favorite, she said. It’s romantic.
He didn’t know what to say. There are so many paths
to the heart. Knotted. A maze he has lost himself in.
There is no clear path
to where she is,
to where she speaks.
He hears her
as an echo, clear, direct, lost in a fog.
He turns to the sound,
hears her speak again
behind him.

He turns
once more.
She speaks
once more
behind him.

He turns,
he turns,
turns.

Knotted,
in a maze,
he turns,
turns.

RD Savage
02/25/96
© 1996
published in The South Ash Press - 1996

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