in the South it's Beltane
dark moon blooming into gold
but over here the sun
is dipping, dipping
we speak softer, silence
stills the edges, fills the center
every leaf disrobing
stripping, stripping
slip, unveiling Spirit
no I, nor you, no marking, no
accounting of our gripes
no gripping, tipping
over into Death
that light and heat may warmth replete
our cousins cross the Stripe
they're yipping, lipping
let's be gracious guests
giving up to God all gifts
delicious dishes done
and sipping, sipping
fennel tea and squatting
over pumpkin slaw, we're drawing
in to keep the wind
from nipping, nipping
