You think I am teaching this class Because my body is old, I can no longer jump and soar like a hawk in the sky. But my lines are bamboo swords. And these tempos are embedded in me. I owe my rent every month. Like a machine it runs, Why can't I? I struggle with engaging my toes to the floor. The work is nothing less; it needs not much more. Where I place myself, Is where my song will score. The pianist played "Till There Was You" As we adagio, carving clay in the ground. In this studio. Inside this city. I was able to see myself this morning, Trying. Again, to be found.