Slow and behemoth
great carriers of green,
unashamed and greedy,
rise out of the party.
Not ignored, but merrily uncared for
by their dizzied partners.
At the slow tide when even the
intermission lulls itself out to
make way for the next procession
A rest that never satisfies
nor allows its members to dive
too deep into their dreamings.
Acrid sweat rolls down their mossy veils.
Silent and pagan they grasp a breath or two
and shift their stolen feet in the mud.
A buzz is coming down the hallway.
The lights are still on
and the night is young.
Some waves dance on their backs
then aimlessly find their way
back to the never-ending waltz.