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Beginning.

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.

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