The sweeping circles of two birds

locked within some mating ritual,

accompanying this dance

is the nearby gnarled tree,

their own home, with

arms outstretched crooked,

all twisted and curled.

This ensemble is much like

the something extra hidden

behind a smile, and the hand

that gently reaches out for more.

All are secret dances

I do not know the steps to.

Some I regret not knowing

more than others.