The act of bodily carving space tuned to elusive rhythms of distant constellations is a song. The song is danced but is not the dance. The song is sealed, safe cannot like the danced dance become opinion, ad, melody, ditty. The song is the bow, the dance its arrow. The song's swiftest arrows never arrive.
Excerpt from Dancer Out of Sight,
The Collected Writings of Douglas Dunn