Wednesday, September 1, 2010

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.