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 a poet and writer based near Philadelphia, PA. He studied at the Torrey Honors College, where the likes of Edmund Spenser, Augustine, and the landscapes of the American National Parks influenced his imagination. His writing has appeared in Ekstasis, Touchstone, the Amethyst Review and elsewhere. He currently serves as a poetry editor for the Anselm Society.