after Nobuo Uematsu’s “To Zanarkand”
I taught you how to dance. The midnight sun
that calls us to her revels, holy light
has crowned upon our hair, the song’s begun.
With heavy breath, we tread into delight,
a prayer of gossamer, a hopeful chord
that kindles active flame from deepest sleep
like echoes coming from a dragon’s hoard,
a memory of water from the deep
that washes at our feet, a melody
so dancing like a lover at our skin,
though every impulse orders us to flee
if we would stay, a magic would begin.
And we will drift into a deeper blue,
with me, at last, atop the world with you.