The Dancer is dead

Moonwalking to whatever everland, tune smithing to the last, finally like Marilyn and not Elvis, gone from the dance floor. While, we gather, cry, despair at the waste, decry the quick buck media grab at our attention, and just like with any other death try to make some sense of it.

What miracles there are

I can only watch in awe.



And highly recommend, the dance that makes up this author's oeuvre.

Some Delicious Tangos

I know, what tango isn't somewhat delicious? The way we hold our breath as she enters his embrace.





The way we catch our breath as he begins his chase.







The shudder of our breathing as at last we see love's full face.