The prayers of wind and rain and the cold incense
on which they’re carried this New Year’s eve
are prophecies of what is not to come again
as the dance towards the summer’s solstice has begun.
Dancing is a kind of prophecy as long as the music
is the blues, that Janus-faced form of harmonies
holding now as if time exists as we say it does
knowing there’s not a chance of this being true.
Hence, the blues and the dances of truth dressed
in a revelation of desire, the slow revealing
of love that not even a cold December rain can keep away.
Of course, we’re always dancing towards the darkness
and then towards the light, one step there, one
step here and that low, constant sigh of delight.
-Byron Hoot
