Dancing in the Quiet Melancholy of the Night

he danced among fireflies
in a meadow far away,
gentle as the night,
graceful as moonlight.

he danced, an aerial promenade,
his body echoing radiance,
from lantern’s coming from
some bug’s holiest bumps.

he danced, his heart fluttering,
amidst the melody
of melancholy playing
from within his own being.

and he danced endlessly,
his body flowing like a river,
swirling with embers
from the music of the night.

Art by William Baxter Closson
Words by Spencer Martin Keats