It smells like smoke,
sweat from every color of skin,
at the dance in the park.
Summer is climaxing and
I’ve spent half of it dying.
I didn’t think I understood You.
Now I know I don’t.
I’ve seen sorrow blended
on a dancing black man’s face.
I saw sweat roll down
on the cheek of the old Native.
I brought a robotic motion
to the potluck of movement
in the park this evening.
The floor was fast and ferocious
and we dove on in.
After the human rainbow recessed,
we cruised the Loop for a minute,
shooing basics from their lanes.
Tonight I gazed with anger
at the beautiful face of God.
I’m experimenting with grace.
I breathed in His costly perfume.
It smelled like dancing humans.