From A SHORT HISTORY OF DANCE

Listen, child, to a wise old wolf:

in dance everything has its own meaning.

Here we’ve stopped—

we haven’t touched,

yet our breath dances to one rhythm,

always stronger and faster.

We began with the foxtrot—but do you hear the pulse of tango?

For another minute, listen to the vibrations in silence.

Now, hold out your palm,

let’s find the pressure points,

here our history begins:

from here rush rivers of mania,

a yellow heat flares

in the ruby eyes of longing,

firing a reckless tarantella in the veins.

If you dare, go all the way to the end on wire bridges

above the boiling lava.

I promise everything—

to dance with you,

to be with you in the dance,

be inside you on far alpine peaks,

in blinding green fields,

black chasms,

in the folios of Egyptian libraries,

on red silk scrolls in Chinese shops,

everywhere and anywhere,

amid the beads, amid the sands,

on cinnamon waves,

in the pleated water lilies,

on whispering sheets,

tangling time and space.

. . . later, though, don’t pretend

you didn’t want exactly this . . .

Translated by Askold Melnyczuk