Portrait of the Dancer as a Young Man

He acts like concrete in summer rain

And walks like drunken jazz

(ripe with realization)

Reaching and readying and real

He breathes like the stars

(single-file)

And blinks like a secret I can’t keep

He smiles like half the Chesire Cat, skipping back into fog

(wisps of wildness)

He tells jokes like a magician, intentionally lopsided, yolks in his palms

Hands are accents

And his goodbyes are lingering needles

(cipherable)