April 12: If I were cavorting . . .

If I were cavorting, deep in the woods,
dancing where no one can see,is my song filled with ‘coulds’ or ‘shoulds,’or am I left to simply bemyself, under the dark green trees,hearing birds sing their own nocturnes,the rustle, the wings, a warm breeze,even at night, I feel patternsas simple as moss under my feet,and joy in my heart, surprise at a visionof trolls, ready to dance with me,dancing