My foot set forth into the birthday laughter

with the noise of spring dark and death by the fire

and the sleeping pool beckoning webbed knocking above

the rainy smoke sailing and brimming with

October sun. In the house

flocked with rosy praise and their raging arms towering over the

magic snow turning in

true joy burning brightly

the moon's fame, child of the sun, the golden blood in their light 

move among the trees in emerald robes 

where the dead possess magic 

and bare their grace in sight of heart.