Late to arrive,
later than the rest,
we sneak and we snake our way to the midst
Hardly invited,
but here nonetheless,
on time—right on time—we insist we insist
Curious and starved,
parched and alone,
we worry and fret over chances we missed
Maybe this feeling,
is initiation,
maybe the spoils are for those who persist
Still these reveries,
of food and of friends,
land in our hand, then pass through our fist
This yearning and want,
is a fast of its own,
a fast we withstand, to withhold our wits
Until the night song,
delivers its spell,
divines us a hymn, disarms with a kiss
Enchanted we dance,
devoted and true,
this smile our offering, this laugh our gift
Others who join,
we love for a while,
a while is forever, if time would permit
But time will forget,
this festival will end,
the night will reclaim, the lives that we lived