revels in the loom

∴ we be of
battered seed, tattered thread,
gallyhooing with the Púca ahead
mayhap he too was bound, as we,
were you there? did you see?
guffaws spilled at the threshold’s edge,
etched with heart-warmth, too bright to hedge |
mirth’s spell calls again,
and this time-thing it tapers,
focus we must on—
rumbustious capers

we bounce ‘twixt strata-light,
wriggling, winging, and now out of sight
well, never quite gone, these whimsies they stay, |
uncertain, perhaps, yet they illume the way

cosmic stars throb and beat in our veins,
scattered joys—they burn with hot blue flame |
minds full of spice,
ground for tankards of nogs—
thought-quenching delight,
poured for the voracious, we ‘wolves’,
splashed in the winds, where madness resumes, |
now replant these seeds, now rethread this loom ∴