for Martha Graham (1895-1991) and Alvin Ailey (1939-1988)

You dance for us the joy of our hidden rites,
give us bodies all of a piece, celebrate melting
colors into sinew, tones into muscle. Our spirits

Soar then descend under the cover of darkness.
We witness— You flex and yawn, bend and stretch—
Transport us to this place. In the body, infectious

With danger— lurking in bones of attachment, run
then leap with the speed and accuracy of sex—
episode after episode like that.

Once a goddess rippling under a white umbrella,
another time a slave dancing seated on a chair,
fanning yourself, capturing revelation.

At ninety-six, your little steps across the stage,
reserved cautious, your generous bow showed us.
Movement transforms gesture into ritual.

The spirit is not forever caged in frail, vulnerable self.
Utterly perishable, the body insinuates soul in its
most secret, unmistakable language.