Life holds hands with death
like partners on the dance floor
spinning and sighing and
flirting and melding,
alternately taking the lead
and following, but never parting from
one another’s side: the foxtrot
belongs to life, the tango
to death. So come,
friend, and hold my hand
for lack of any other way to
comprehend their whirling dance
— instead we’ll join them on the floor and
we’ll toast the Spirit who makes
our steps graceful.

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