I never learned
to follow the music, always out of step
with what was playing at each Friday hop
the way my heart, decades
down the road, skips a beat repeatedly
& counterpoints time’s goose step round the clock.
To join the dance in everybody’s blood,
I had to make my own music,
as when, counting syllables at my desk
those nights as many years
ago, I found my ten fingers perfect
for playing variations on the beat
that pulses through the feet of a long line
of dancers who filled in the blank
with their own signatures.