lynn unger | revelers

Call it a spare time -

dark afternoons

and the bones of trees

rattling against the sky.
We could use more hope,

or reason for hope. The sea
is rising, and bombs are planted 
in the marketplace. It might
be better to just go to bed. 
It might be better to
turn out the lights and wait 
for the end to come.

The only other choice
is to dance. That and to sing 
sturdy songs that have held up 
across the winters,
drink wine the red of blood 
that has not been shed,
feast, tell tales of heroes who 
strode or stumbled through 
their own bleak times.

When in doubt, revel in the darkness. 
Each act of celebration is a spark. 
Gathered together
they call back the sun.