Dances

Accusations are thrown.
An old dance, well rehearsed,
we know where the other will step
and guide each other.
The rise, the fall,
we know how it ends.
Nothing changed.
But now, a twist.
Grace of the past turns,
and a new rage burns.
And now, lost, we flounder.
Searching for answers
when we barely know the questions.
and then it comes again,
that familiar click,
and everything falls into place.
The veil lifted, however,
and we see a frightening truth,
the twisting dance that binds us.

Patchwork

Where is the line
between repair and replace?
Replace the working parts,
you get a different machine,
But is it still yours?
When everything that was is gone,
where can we draw lines back to?
Patchwork histories
and replacement dreams.