Remember that night back in September?
The afternoon was warm. Shirt-sleeve warm.
But as the moon rose, like a lantern above the farthest hill,
we got goose bumps and huddled under the blanket, which was damp.
The fiddles played. And guitars and cello. Voices rose up in the night.
Clothing caught the dimming light as dancers whirled, their hair flying outward, their arms raised up.
Remember the sparks
into the sky?