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Danse Americana

Wise, old earth beneath dancing feet reverts to an
immaturity, now moveable, malleable. It spits out
dandelions in a failure to contain its excitement in
its newfound flexibility. Its skin sheds and lilts upward
into head-level curtains of a fine, brown powder.

Nothing ancient—even that which laid the terra of
Eden—can’t be coaxed into yielding to childish caprice
every now and then. It simply requires the appropriate
technique, the precision of a choreographed dance,
the percussive heel-stomps of bare, practiced feet.

When this was a new land, it had already shaped to
the drums of tectonics, a frond of Pangea with its
mountains immortal. But it can be tickled—made to
laugh—when rhythm enlivens its old skin, giving rise
to those familiar, wispy, terracotta curtains.

So there is us, so there is the danse Americana, our
heels brown and bare. Our treasure is in having gifted
this land its first laugh, a divine echo for which there
was ceremony and camaraderie. The strength of our
own arms pushed this land into its spot in the sun.

Keiraj M. Gillis is a gothic and spiritual poet whose works explore the mind, heart, and arcane. His poetry collections include St. SagittariusThe Gentleman Vagrant, and Handsome for One More Day, which are projects that have allowed him to document his spiritual journey. He enjoys his work as a publisher and spends his time immersing himself in the culture of the American South and Southwest.