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Postmodern Village
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crazy dance holiness
by Hezekiah Allen Taylor

this morning I watched
the pale yellow light play
on the pale yellow wall

a maple tree, tiny
reflected there in negative space

blowing and dancing
in the first wind
of an approaching storm

the interplay
the give and take
reminenscent,
of you and me

symbolic, you'd say

you the light
me, the shadow
(I know. I've compared you
to the light before.
I really can't come up
with anything fucking new.)

together in movement
separated by a single, thin
dark line that says "this is"
"this is not"

it reminds me
of how I suddenly feel

how I didn't know
the outline before,
never knew the separation

and then the light appeared

and now I'll know forever
the distinction---
which is both good
and bad for me,
which makes me so very aware
and, yet, also makes me
so lonely, sometimes

because I want to be
in the light with you

but, still
there's that line
that goddamn
permanent
forever
sort of
line

Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's Version
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