All poetry is prayer, the poet says,
Lifting eyes to the sky
The rhythm clinging to each heartbeat
In the white space
That breathes beyond and between
Each syllable, each sentiment, each word,
Spoken and unspoken
All dance is poetry, the dancer mimes
Mouthing the words to the song inside
One heartbeat matching each beat of the drum
Each run of the keys, timed, syncopated,
A marriage of movement and might
The language of love and longing
Dance is poetry, poetry is prayer
In the space beyond and between
A story told in silence, melody and grace
The dancer’s spirit bent and broken, healed and saved.
The dancer’s stage, an altar
Where truth hides in the shadows
Is anybody out there listening?
The dancer’s arms, a symbol
Outstretched, pleading, prayerful, strong
Are you coming to get me now?
Dance of sorrow, dance of praise
Can you hear my call?
Here I am, on my knees
Can you see me now?
When will you find the space to
Answer me, rescue me, deliver me.
Watch me dance out loud
KateMcCarrollMoore 
Van Ronk worked at the Gaslight
brings me a bottle in a paper bag
drinking songs all through the night
asleep with that guitar in my hands
stunned, stoned or straight
Goodness hides behind its gates
Bloodstream of the blues
in this mythical realm
of dizzy, portentous truth
A frosted silent place
Poet of night stones and the quick earth,
something calling to me to come in,
taste the dust.
A fearsome apparition –
the ghosts race towards the night
Sing something,
fully alive and revved up
Rebellion upturned…
Sing something,
beautiful, magical, upbeat, complete
voice and guitar, ringing the room
Je est un autre, je est un autre
Sourced from Chronicles: Volume One, Bob Dylan