The Small Dance
The day has come at last,
the day for hope and answered prayers.
Joy to the toiler! Joy to the sturdy trees!
The little lost wind
wanders through the meadow,
finding little to fear.
Disillusionment disperses over the sky,
enabling frogs to sing their truth in forgotten fens.
It’s high time to reject analogies!
There are too many of one sort,
too few of those that matter.
Philosophy, what of it?
Psychology, too obvious!
The absorption of energy persists
to make electrons positive
so they may behave like normal electrons.
It’s called the small dance,
whether it’s big or small.
And it’s my job
to make sure every girl has a partner
but no one partner for too long.
It’s the quiet of a loving eye
that pines for what is not.
It’s the danger that disappears
because you have turned a corner
and can no longer sense it.
(Paul Brucker, a marketing communications writer, lives in Mt. Prospect, IL, “Where "Friendliness is a Way of Life." Active in the early 1980s Washington, D.C, poetry scene, he put a lid on poetry writing when he went to the Northwestern University grad ad school to learn how to think like a businessman and secure a decent income. Nevertheless, he has succumbed to writing poetry again. He has been published somewhat recently in "Crack the Spine," "The New Plains Review," "The Poydras Review,""The Taj Mahal Review," "Inkwell" and the anthology, "The Pagan's Muse: Words of Ritual, Invocation and Inspiration.")
The Beautiful Space-