The Dance of Life
My name is Edvard Munch
and in my world
it is always twilight.
Even when the sun shines
it is twilight.
People are dancing
by the seashore
or on the narrow shores
of the fjord.
Without shadows
they cling to each other,
spin each other
around in what’s left
of the light.
The women’s hair
flies out
like smudges of paint.
Life sings
in their veins
and the moon shines
a sickly orange slick
on the water.
The dancers turn
and turn in wolf-light,
sipping at the air
as at a cordial,
until the last few moments
of light enter them
and their hands
and faces glow.
Page(s) 63
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