This story follows David and his love of poetry and Katherine who has stopped dancing. The reading of their stories feels like you're dancing to jazz: moving smoothly with the music and just when you relax a sudden saxophone shrill grabs your attention and you are hooked again.
The dancer's physique was still discernible despite the stretched flesh from her pregnancy. She brushed her hand over the slackened skin, the thin scars like shine slug trails, and stretched into an arabesque, lengthening her arm above her head. It calmed her to do it. She loved the line the body could make. An arm and leg simply positioned in space. She turned a few inches, making an angle in the mirror, tilting her head, and the line transformed. It became something that had nothing to do with her. It depicted a thousand possibilities - a branch, a building, a refusal, a bid for emptiness.