Did you say you saw death and danger there?
I saw you there. You were across the room. We thought we
knew each other.
Some were drawing their magic circle and dancing. We looked
forward to see the avant-garde. Their name stood high, up to the street. Four
walls joined a club that might not have you.
We went down to be there, hear, watch, be diverted. Did we fall
into a hole?
Someone could find fallen women, lost brothers, artists clinging
to the rugged ledges of their angst to keep from forgetfulness.
Did you say you heard death and danger?
You surprised me with who you were. That was the only thing
I could have expected. You made the room what you are. Others there who were
not you told me who I am.
We heard about freedom from ones who had lost. They had not
even decided what they would do when they got it back.
We saw what we might be able to do, though, if we looked well ahead,
projected on the walls of our very own catacomb, before we knew we could do it.
We escaped, we made love, and then fell upward.
You say you felt death and danger?
