waltzing across walls, waltzing with the sun

the sun rose while
the birds sang
even the rooster broke the night
as the dark city
became golden.

when the dance ended
and i lay in his arms
shivering in the holy air
everything no longer looked so perfect
from such great heights,
even as the dessert sun
peaked over the wavering line
of the west bank
horizon.
it took me five beers,
one semi-square in a waltz,
three jumps back from the ocean,
two blindfolded eyes above this confusing city,
4 a.m. walks through deserted streets,
a handful of wails from allison, gillian, and iron and wine,
and one prickly face against mine
to realize
that perhaps i am not detached
from my movements,
thoughts,
and sinusoidal fluctuations
of emotion.

after the loss of
expressed love
my eyes stood hard and dry,
and only memoirs of war
were able to warm
my cold blood
to feel
the pain in this world.
but what of my own?

(i closed my eyes when his
opened into mine,
and i thought
of the promises lost,
and dreamed of a me
who would know better,
or at least keep my eyes open
to see the fault lines.
for when will i know how to draw
a line made out of anything
but sand?
where does adventure become reckless
and wonder become wonderful
and love become something worth fighting for?)

maybe my cold blood
is not frigid
for the sake of frigidity,
maybe it's just selective in its enforcement.
maybe when i find my cliche
of the important things in life
and write "you should" books
based on small heroes
in far away places,
peace and justice and universal love
will be at the top of the list,
and a specific "you" will
have to come later.

(for i do love you,
the editorial you at least,
with no country on your passport,
but an unidentifiable face
that i want to make smile.
schindler, oz, sarah, kristof
you all say it,
that it's one life
that counts,
slowly, each one,
and i want to start somewhere
else, somewhere far.)

or maybe i say this
to avoid all kinds of self-loathe,
which perhaps comes more easily,
but i would rather love myself
with freedom and security and peace,
knowing that i am trying with each day
and hour of sleep
and breath of holy air
to make it better,
improve lives,
and train myself
to do so
indefinitely
without second thought.

i know i am an imperfect being.
i fall apart each day:
my hair comes out in the shower,
i tell lies in my dreams,
i eat wilted lettuce and accidental
pieces of eggshells in pasta,
i stalk celebrities who cheat on their wives,
i cry listening to npr on the bus,
i criticize my mother,
i am distracted by travel ads on the internet
i yell when i stub my toe
i write poems and dream smiling dreams
about a boy i loved and hated and want
to hate
but most of the time don't
even in the very moment i say i do
i spin with knives at the end of my hair,
and am often hypocritical beyond measure.
these days i'm just,
slowly,
waltzing with entropy,
spinning towards
chaos
in between
left foot back right over glide and
forward.

but for today, (inhale/exhale,
in methodical and rhythmic sequences)
i will choose my steps,
i will choose to be okay,
i will choose to love universally,
and include myself in this
universal declaration of human love
(including rights),
and implement it better than the bureaucratic entities.
i will choose to make big plans
and dream of the future of peace
i'll be a part of making.

(with a sigh, a tear and defeated smile,
my self self-help
repeats in circular and repeated doctrines
not only to smile and do,
but to run and write
speak my mind and
fill my heart with the realities around me,
to read and sing,
eat chocolate and fresh fruit
after chatting with the man who sells it,
and never lose hope,
to be present wherever i am,
but know the difference between
liberation and self-destruction,
to sit and think,
put my hands in the earth,
learn languages and
engage with everyone around me
with no pretext and no
judgment,
to remember that people are mostly good
and to make time for yoga, tears,
beauty, and the sun,
and resist feeling guilty for wanting something
for myself,
to stay in love with the world,
even amid the hate,
and devote my life
to bringing the sun
a bit closer.)

i will look for a beautiful life,
and in the process,
a beautiful me,
for what else can i do,
as i move in this
spinning, waltzing, loving
dance?

(eyes closed now,
but as they slowly
open,
i catch
a glimpse of
a slice
of peace
as the sun
floods through
all the separation
barriers,
making the opposite sides
indistinguishably
light.
it still looks more
perfect
from these great heights)

DLS