A poem by Jenny Pollak
—after Goya’s Disparate alegre (Merry folly)
We dance in the dark as the world slowly turns
and our shadows fall dumb
as the candlestick burns.
Look how we move, we say, blind in our pleasure,
and, don’t we look good
as we’re dancing together?
The land, it shrinks further, the sea rises higher,
but, let’s raise a toast, we all cry,
To the weather!
The feet of the hanged man dance quicker, dance faster,
as we close our eyes
and we toast to our pleasure.
