The Dance by William Carlos Williams

When the snow falls the flakes

spin upon the long axis

that concerns them most intimately

two and two to make a dance

the mind dances with itself,

taking you by the hand,

your lover follows

there are always two,

yourself and the other,

the point of your shoe setting the pace,

if you break away and run

the dance is over

Breathlessly you will take

another partner

better or worse who will keep

at your side, at your stops

whirls and glides until he too

leaves off

on his way down as if

there were another direction

gayer, more carefree

spinning face to face but always down

with each other secure

only in each other’s arms

But only the dance is sure!

make it your own.

Who can tell

what is to come of it?

in the woods of your

own nature whatever

twig interposes, and bare twigs

have an actuality of their own

this flurry of the storm

that holds us,

plays with us and discards us

dancing, dancing as may be credible.