“Cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it,”
the man sang and a friend,
across the room said,
“Those are two of the best lines
I ever heard.” I pretended
to agree, but all the time thinking
I’m not worthy, you’re not,
we’re not worthy.
I ached to throw wide
the doors of perception,
yielded to the tears
of solitude and great notions,
dived so deep,
every breath was fraught,
every way from there was up,
and, he said, as though he knew
what I was thinking,
“That thought should give you courage.”
I cried then, anything but brave,
turned to see my lovely girl nearby,
my fingers slow and tender, a stretch
to reach her, the glow around her
leaking colors I had never seen before,
leaking colors her to me,
and then she was gone,
snake woman shedding her dress,
a relic left behind
and, he said to me, as though he knew
what I was thinking, “What remains of her,
skin and scent and visions,
should give you comfort.”
I pretended to agree,
before I told him
“I have loved you longer than I can count,
but it is time to
journey on.”
He looked at me. “May that thought
give you wings,” he said.
We briefly lingered, lips to lips,
before I fell again
beneath that dancing spell
and, remembering the promise
I had made, worthy or not,
left to seek more magic.
