For many years, the Textiliste and I have taken dance classes; we have a system that involves her ensuring I stay on the beat while I manage the steps. Like marriage, it’s all in the compromises…
Your consoling hand sits light on my sleeve,
A confident tap to release me on four;
We set sail, in step, gliding with ease
Past blind spots and missteps strewn on the floor.
I fumble to catch that elusive toe-tap
Which, if I could, would allow me my head.
You remind me, by way of a quick finger snap,
Of the dangers where taking that path might lead.
I continually try to do it my way,
To give in to weakness of mind and of soul
But you hold my love tight; I cannot stray
And we remain linked: two parts of one whole.
May it always be thus as we gib and we tack,
Both looking forward, your hand at my back.