Morning Dance

When we lift our heads
and we feel the landscape flee
as if the planet spins faster
as if our body had abandoned us.

And then with a light head we do
all movements forgotten
from morning ballet to coffee
our body on the ground and us floating.

The pink tights on the floor
pointe shoes hanging around your neck
and the dance that never ends
a dance that tires and falls asleep.

Pirouettes, loose steps, fourth position
coffee with too much sugar for the blood
almost dry bread, almost dry bread...
and the eyes read all the lines on the tiles.

Morning dance poem that tires
morning that dances in poems
of very bitter coffee with too much sugar.
No flavor to rhyme, my love, no heat!

Our bodies on the ground and us floating
in a dance that tires and falls asleep.
My body does not forget, my love, regret
as if our body had abandoned us.