How can one be sure of the space in which to move?
Boundaries are invisible, yet we push through our breathing air.
Ripples and waves. Minutiae.
Who shall we dance with next? The tune determines the pace.
Some times my steps shuffle, amplified by gray slippers on wood floor.
I hear my elder self in the kitchen making tea--or, perhaps I'm just remembering myself as I am now. Some how.
Here we are.
Do you have the time?