I look to you in the days that drift, Dance, and die.

In those times, I stop my wonder.

I stop my wonder

to find one silent step,

but seldom succeed. I search,

and find myself wandering,

wondering: How would a shoelace think?

Instead of will, they live by drift,

always dancing life into ever flowing life.

But really they step how I step

and dance only when I tell them.

And me? Well, I only dance on drifting days.

On days when steps fall silent

on a welcoming soft ground.

I only dance when you tell me.

I only drift to stop the wonder.

I only stop when I wonder,

“Where can I take one silent step?”

Before my eyes fall down.