On the stage, the earth
is a plain with a mouth
of whale bones that sieve
in-and-out streams of life

and digest what doesn't swim
weakened from diluted passion
faded from lost joy
rusted from fatigue

The dancers search for themselves
on the tongue, flushing
to and from the stomachs
the nurseries of life

The thread curtains breathe
around them, they close
smoothly like titanium bars
shiny with perfection