The dance is light, and where it is is darkness. it is heard or felt, in my experience, more often than it is seen, but others have sensed it differently. And the poem attempts to speak it. The poem unfolds this dance into speech rhythms and pauses, vowels and consonants, lexemes and phonemes, propositions and intonations, voices and words. But those are not the poetry. Those are the poem's linguistic flesh and acoustic skin, but not its essence or its skeleton. Poetry's bones are the bones of the dance: not movements and pauses as such, but meaningful units of movement and pause, which is to
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