Fixed in time and space the absolute perfection of our form is made imperfect. Having transcended the immobile clay of our creation, each breath that raises our chests, each flutter of eye lashes and each beating of our hearts is divinity incarnate. The raising of my arms is a salute to the tenacity of life. Each step of my bare foot is a victory over death. While I move, the darkness must wait to claim my spirit. One day, stillness will settle over my features in a serene mask of clay. That day is not today. Today I am poetry in motion.