It has been more than a few days 
when I come back with some reluctance 
to the dance from the outer room, 
stopping for a moment
on the threshold to watch others
whirl around like teacups
on a theme park ride.

I stand there wondering
if it’s worth it to begin again,
to pay the fare and join in;

then I recall the joys 
of uncertainty, the worry
and the planning
for where things might go
if the ride breaks down 
at the height of the swirling;

I think of the dancers,
of the dance itself
leaping and careening
into a stomp from a waltz,
the orchestra shifting gears
from decorum to abandon.

How can I not join in
when it seems
that all I have resisted 
has begun to change
and who I am
and what I have been
will settle at last into
the music yet to come?