We Three

My love wanders the rooms, melodious,

flute notes, plucked wires,

full of a wine the magi drank

on the way to Bethlehem.

We are three. The moon comes

from its quiet corner, puts a pitcher

of water down in the center.

The circle of surface flames.

One of us kneels to kiss the threshold-dust.

One drinks with wine-flames playing over his face.

One watches the gathering

and says to any cold onlookers,

This dance is the joy of existence.