our dances stay charged within us this week. sickness. time. keeping us from each other. shall we forget them. shall gestures and steps slip away? or have they marked themselves on our bodies, inscribed themselves in the marrow of our bones. there was writing on her skin. there was something squeaking in my hip joint. I think we will read these texts, find our dances, yes. when we meet again. when sickness subsides and time abets.