through fires,
and frostbite;
‘neath sunlight
and starlight.
We will leave footsteps
—pellucid relics
of spirits lifted high
and worries hung to dry.
There’ll be paths where we’ve been:
Waltzes in the frost of snow,
Polka ‘pon the coals of fire,
Charleston in the sands of time.
The world will tell
a simple tale:
Entranced,
we danced.
And everyone will wonder
how, in darkness immured,
we laughed in the night
as we kept our sights centred
on the light of our gaze
and our endless embrace.