no one dances anymore,

why?

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poem: Sand Heaps, 

by Robert Bly

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Last night we took off our wolf skins, and danced For hours, stomping our feet on the old rug. We were Sand heaps breaking up in someone else’s hands.

It was when we sang the same four bars over And over that we gradually went mad On one precious foot that was never put down.

We couldn’t tell for a while where the door was Or where the corners were. We didn’t know if it was Our crying or someone else’s that filled the room.

What good will all this dancing do for anyone? Oh, it’s nothing; it will never do any good. It’s as precious as a hundred hours of prayer.

We have no idea why our bodies are jumping Up and down, nor why our throats are full of sound. All our years of everything have come to nothing.

We couldn’t tell where the walls and floor were. We lost all our certainty as we danced in the heat. All our years of everything have come to this.

song by Assimina Kouris: The Four Elements https://open.spotify.com/track/72roaDc4NLskIj3GzfToAE?si=a4c34df4636f4186 e.