Darling, save the last dance for me

Poem by Steve Day

Not a neat map
with a route-proofreading of sorrows.
We find ourselves inherently happy.
Your twitch to my itch,
my blistered kissed lips and your
sculptured jaw-line moving prime
numbers into play. We approach
a kinda Dhammapada
climbed neither high nor higher.
To that far place where no sun shines,
signs of life sighted in springing snowdrops
wherever they care to grow within
a view of sapling trees.

A clear muddy newt pond glints in shadow,
moonstones for a promised Fern Hill faraway.
The breeze eases where the old Tao goes.
We stay rockin’ in rhythm
boogalooing dawn into day.

Our many-marked milestones are laid out
upon the dancefloor.
All future decades will be swathed in green.     
The home vine trails the tail
of a psalm supreme entwined around the bowed bass
doubling my chance of catching a saxophone soloing.
Life lends me this Acknowledgment:
Between every orchard and meadow you plant for peace
fly a flock of white doves already set free, Darling,
Save The Last Dance For Me.

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