We dip, drop and dovetail in a cabaret
with crushed daiquiris and spellbound
maracas clippety-clapping the way
words click together and channel their sound
to a gorge-drop, a doorway, the sky-top’s
blue veil. But then alarms ring, the music stops
and I wake to a fade-out, an aftersound
of bebble behind a curtain of air
that I chase through, my head dancing around
after rhythms without meaning, without care.