A fire on a hillside, a restless wind,
Water runs through bracken, mutters under
Trumpets in the ruins: and the dance begins.
Our feet tread the grass to distant thunder.
At the head of table, in a bright bronze mask
I pass the jeweled cup of driving blindness
To the dead out of the desert, from the worldless dark
To the forgetful feast of shining kindness.
Sinew joined to sinew, blood to blood,
Muscle joined to muscle, god to god.
I wash your feet in vinegar, rinse my hands in wine,
Touch my lips to salt water, greet the morning.