Nic Courto Music

Groaning, his knees crack as he carefully stand,

aching where in his joints old bones collide 

and from his mind a joyful tavern band

revives to pluck a gentle, lilting waltz.

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His feet, no longer nimble as they were

clunk heavily upon the wooden boards

but never miss a beat. The music stirs

him to remember how he used to dance.

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And as he plods he feels as though

the swollen bones and creaking hipes

dissolve into the ether so

that he can glide and twirl and spin. 

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Tired, swollen joints and muscles tightening

he gingerly sinks back into his chair.

The cushions wrap around his sagging limbs

and from his lungs a lengthy, weighted sigh. 

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The dance smiles and 

drifts away to sleep.

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