Dance!

There is a party here
Quietly
A dust sweeps beneath the door,
So low, so slow
people
Only seeing soft diamonds in champagne flutes
And the cheeks and noses and breastbones of women.
Sometimes the mens eyes go so far as the buttocks,
But the dust is inbetween
Unseen.
they want a party,
Implicit with the nature
Of it
they want to dance.
A hostess scrubs the tabletop free of
Alcohol residue.
The dust can dance,
But they do not
Can not?
Real dance is when the air pulls you along
Real dance is between your toes.
Real dance is grit and sweat
But their dresses are far too fragile and
Egos too delicate
For dancing,
So they sway
And usher the dust away.