To dance you to health I lift each finger with happy tune while you mark time apart in rest-beats, quietness We know that Francis and his ragged troop in monkish foolishness sang abandon – Nothing, except God and Joy. The music’s clownish beat cynically rings out paradox: in the Creator’s eyes all things made are marvelous, ridiculous – rejoice! My world overflows with love and flowers, for you I wave their shadow hands and feet paint Nothing filled with music. To conjure air is ancient art done for sickness where body and spirit in the dancer pray for their mirrors in the ill (1970s) |
Poems by Janet
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von Gumppenberg |
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