The words tumbled from Tuco as he greeted Arlu. “But,” he grumbled,
“Dancing makes me wordy.”¹ And he fell silent. He watched her face,
the shift and weave of light across her as she moved
closer. “You dance well,” she said, “Even silence is a dance.”

RD Savage, 11/29/95

Tuco turned to Arlu
and just watched her
as she washed dishes.

Hardly anyone washes dishes by hand now.
But they will again, he thought.
He watched her face,
the shift and weave of light across her as she moved.
He remembered that time, years ago,
when they loved to dance.
There was something about her
that made dancing easy for him.

He could dance circles around rattlesnakes
but a dance floor was a wilderness to him.
Except when she smiled and moved
and the light wove a shimmer into her face
and feet. That shimmer was there now,
remained in her when the light was just so
and she melted into what she did.

Tuco smiled,
she dances with knives
and dishes. He chuckles
and she turns,
sees that glint of mirth.
She smiles and shimmers
and he is lost
all over again
in her dance,
Arlu's wonderful dance.