we raised a toast to night and poesy,
we raised our toast to the muses nine;
she, smiling, reflected moonlight and star shine,
pale face floating above the campfire, light
as mist but clear as the evening’s chill outside
the campfire’s glow of warmth and hickory smoke.

we raised a toast to tomorrow and life,
we raised a toast to passions unbridled;
and now the potency of silver moonlight
and strong, earth-tasting liquor work magic
among us as we rise to dance, pagans
in ancient rituals bowing to each
element and primary in turn, and
now the romp of savage fornications . . .

dmpitchford