By Brendon Sylvester


And after the horas, l’chaims, the bright wine poured,

the urge with gleaming eyes to feast a little more,

the tender nestling while the revelry remains,

the dancing will draw out, legs begin to strain

from turning, paining one another, giving help

against each other’s weakness, making new wounds well—

then your wedding-guests will circle you around

again and dance to help your help, for love abounds

in dancing within dancing within the greater dancing still

of the Bridegroom and his bride, that, rising, fills

all things. When, at the end, joints stiffen, muscles groan,

and you are drawing near to your eternal home,

remember the dance that you are starting now

joins with the Dance that’s making all things new.

Brendon Sylvester is an Anglican Christian poet and writer. He is currently an adjunct professor at Cairn University. He likes The Faerie Queene and hiking. And he is currently teaching himself the banjo and can play "wagon wheel" with moderate success. You can read more of his work and contact him through his substack.