Life runs together, until one day, we turn around and wonder how we got here. Like a sentence diagram, a dance with all generations in attendance, shows us where we’ve been.
SAINT PAUL’S FESTIVAL
Round the tent pole center, the little children danced. With feet, they strummed the stars; with hearts that beat like ours when we were young and life was but a chance.
Moms, and maidens too, took the floor. Those beguilers that held the melody between their breasts, felt the rhythm and knew what apple picking was for. They called to the hearts half sleeping and whispered a dream close to waking.
The men, staid and resolute, who bent knees slowly, only to step into their desire and out of their fearful aggressions, held dear the evening and wanted to forget their lives since they were children.
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