William Doreski<\/p>\n
A glacial boulder larger
\nthan my house. Before it,
\na woman dances to music<\/p>\n
in her head. Swinging her arms,
\nindifferent to my witness,
\nshe dances the perfect Zen dance<\/p>\n
of the boulder, in which
\nthe dancer becomes the boulder,
\nthe boulder becomes the dancer,<\/p>\n
and thousands of tons of deadweight
\nexude a spirit so vital
\nI can almost believe I see it<\/p>\n
smoking from upholsteries of moss.
\nI shouldn\u2019t stand here watching,
\nbut the mass of her indifference<\/p>\n
equals that of the boulder
\nso I\u2019m caught in the neutral zone
\nthat arrests all movement but hers.<\/p>\n
As she dances past me her face
\nlooks blank enough to write on.
\nHer limbs, however rubbery,<\/p>\n
are strong enough to brace a planet.
\nThe music sifts from her like flour
\nand dusts the ground where I stand.<\/p>\n
At last I break free of myself
\nand retreat up the trail. Half a mile
\nlater I still hear absent music,<\/p>\n
still feel the warm air surfing
\nabout her whirling arms, still
\nbelieve the spirit of the boulder<\/p>\n
has responded to her artistry
\nby absorbing and erasing her
\nand leaving her body to twirl.<\/p>\n
WILLIAM DORESKI<\/strong> lives in Peterborough, New Hampshire, and teaches at Keene State College. His most recent book of poetry is The Suburbs of Atlantis<\/em> (2013). He has published three critical studies, including Robert Lowell\u2019s Shifting Colors<\/em>. His essays, poetry, fiction, and reviews have appeared in many journals.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" William Doreski A glacial boulder larger than my house. Before it, a woman dances to music in her head. Swinging her arms, indifferent to my witness, she dances the perfect Zen dance of the boulder, in which the dancer becomes … Continue reading