swindling the self

slipping as we stand

planting a shovel so we have nothing too work with

 hazy hold

 haptic hunt within the precarious parts we play 

"May I never not be frisky, May I never not be risqué.

May my ashes, when you have them, friend, and give them to the ocean,

leap in the froth of the waves, still loving movement,

still ready, beyond all else, to dance for the world". M.O