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In yoga, inversion means upside down. In dance, it means taking the way a dancer characterizes a motion and doing its opposite: my arm reaches high in the front, so perhaps a leg might reach low in back. This sounds dull. Today I played Bach and did inversion upon inversion, and it was not at all dull.

A harpsichord plucks precisely because it has no lingering. No sustain, as musicians say. I love this need to play note after note in order to keep sound pouring into space. Today the music’s insistence dug inversions out of me. My body scratched and crosshatched the space above my rug, music rubbing visibility out of invisibility. When I finished, I rested in my summer sweat as the music dribbled softly on. Until it stopped sharp, on a stroke.

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