- Y -

It may be all movements through time are like dance
steps, but sometimes the tempi,

The patterns seem random, seem to us frantic,
confuse us and lose us

In rhythms that stutter and stumble, carry us off
of our footing.

Fitting that you, then, pentultimate letter, occasion
reflection.

Slow down the score to molto adagio, make the mood
pensive.

X in proximity’s like that, Z’s imminent coming is
like that.

Linger then, fondly, as long as you’re able to,
posing your question,

And grant us the poise for an answer, the faith that
our answer is true:

That there has been dancing before now, that is it
still dancing we do.

Editor’s note:  With this poem, we conclude the selections in our possession from Michael Stewart’s Alphabet Book. There is no “Z” that we know of. If you, dear reader, know either Dr. Stewart or a poem “Z” that would conclude this collection, please rush to the “Contact Us” page and drop us a note.