I yearn for the precision burns.

Fortification number one:

Keep my back straight; butt, clenched.

Steady now, hips. No expression, shoulders.

Knees overshadow toes as I bend not, squat low.

Muscles bulge, floor gives propulsion.

Breath shortening. Feet rising as I

learn (to contain the fissure in my bones),

to dance.

To dignify my actions with practiced art.

To act gracefully without second-guessing.

(Doubting oneself causes disgust in the onlooker).

Looking good is irrelevant; self-trust is trustworthy.

There is no movement, for the moves were there

already; no direction, for that implies

two- the mover and that which is moved- and

I am

one.