Hardwood Dancing

Snow lay unmoving,
dancing in the early sun,
crystal on cotton, sharp, soft,
golden haze, blue sky,
firmly weighted down ‘neath frigid air.
Over all I glanced and felt but air
and saw nothing, no twinkling
nor the rush of it, the very feel
of still-standing creation.

I’ve walked across hardwood floors
and never noticed them
lying restless beneath my feet,
neither weight nor rhythm,
they sat there idly, existing.
And I was undiscerning,
my fascination arrhythmic,
when greater feet then mine
were set to dance and feel.

How many days, beauty unspoilt,
have thundered past my eyes?
How many floors, firm and unyielding,
have drifted beneath my toes?
How much of love, given over every day,
have I not dared let be between
heart and mind, resting close,
and how can I not do so
again?

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