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Jean Erdman

By the piano, a student leans in.
This isn’t music, it’s something else, nebulous, blue and circling.

Waves. The hymn of creation.
The hum of mossy, tumbled stones.
Every wet field, every ocean seeking cliff,
Every eyelid opening to meet matter halfway.
All of the growing.
Stalks finding room and Goodwill bound sneakers.
All of the suckling young.

My dancer elevates her limbs to honor all beginnings.
Closing and opening she honors all renewal.
The floorboards creak in time to everything that wants to be.
They creak in time to great heaving stars and sunbursts.

Nothing to believe and nothing to disbelieve,
Movement arrives.

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