Let us know each other by this
dance, barefoot, over bits of glass.
Let our arms
discover what’s in the air
around us, how much resistance,
what passages, our fingertips alive
to high frequencies, doubts, jazz.
Let’s move
to the jugular pulse of our lives,
shake our asses
to the sound of petty crime,
a cash register opening,
a libido humming
in a nearby room.
And when we return to our chairs,
the dance floor
arid with our absence,
let’s invent the brawl
that starts at the bar—two men, say,
who need the exercise,
let’s conjure the bloodbeat,
the contagion of violence,
and slip out into the street
with such things behind us,
having done and survived them.
Let’s then (for a moment, 
in our minds) take the Thruway upstate
and arrive at a place
where good days slide so easily
into the bad they deprive us
of grand gestures.
Let there be trees. Vacancies
for belief. The sky, perhaps,
as it once was.

Stephen Dunn, from A Circus of Needs

(Source: wwnorton)