We feel it.
The low tenor and shimmering soprano
it fills us with a teasing rhythm

Unbearable

Amidst the warmth of a shallow breeze
we dance
Kindled by a glimmer of fading fire
we writhe

With intent we make our way
from our warm bed in the grass
to climb together to alpine heights
nestled where we can best reach
The edge, the rim through which gods create
that dark abyss which sustains us

With an abrupt rush, we are lifted and consumed
There, the briefest glimmer of sparkling white
and we fall,
pushed by muscular cadence
Plunge. Float...
And finally pulled
Here we move,
Rostellum pierce the pitch
Then feverishly,
Happily
We rook our God