for those who loved me

Led by our own deep music we keep

dancing outward, flames of small cheer

glowing beyond reproof;

who marks the faint, short-lived attempt

to hold the ancient howling night at bay?

We are the archetypes

of our own dreams, as large as myth, magical

and filled with the fusion of energies.

Miniature as our mundane daily lives may be, we

(you and tiny I)

are vaster than oceans or spiral nebulae,

for the universe is crackling

with our very life, dear reader,

and be amazed that as your dim eyes

scan this piece of flattened wood,

bleached and covered with oily scratches, you

see me, huffing noisily uphill toward you,

and grabbing you by the

hands

and whirling you madly

into this savage joyful dance

to light

the whole bitter cosmos by.

Peg Syverson

written 1970-72