I've been down this forest way before,
and know its flow like that of the river;
how it leads you but isn't quite destined,
yet runs its mossy feet round roots and stone
and smoothes down to time and trees overhead,
so that you never know when face to face we'll meet
to dance an old song under stars.

In softest silence on silk-swept grass
my feet will turn and pivot, measured step,
whilest your hand in the small of my back
presses like a petal fresh fallen to grace the ground,
and guides centuries of unrest to a sense of entirety
unlike any other, in an immortal dance
soulsung by these mortals.

A play of movement sweeping away
to twice enraptured rather than solitary star,
and my breath in the night air,
moonlight caught by the breeze
and lifted away to soft streaming among the trees,
while beneath we dance to the oldest song of all
echoed through ages, through earth and stone
to seep out of forest floor and swill the hem of my dress,
wrap its tidal tendrils along our limbs
with gentle grace and rest to rave in beauty,
and the ancient resonance inherant in anything this returned,
in the rippling memory once-dormant and called to vibrancy.

echo the known stretch of the wrist
the gentle rest of foot on grass by moonlight
to remembered twist of hip
and the familiar arch of neck leading
predictably, to quivered lip.

We've circled beneath these stars before,
when time was young and took fancy in our play to passion,
and again, along centuries of bloodtide called to surface
for the sake of the moment and the chance to dance
along leylines of grace ancient in might and measure,
where the forest meets the stars and her limbs sway
in the same air that brushes aside my hair
when I spin into your waiting arms to raise on high
all that is good and grace, love and light,
and the sweet passion at the core of this night.

When face to face we meet
in an immortal dance of mortals,
and I slip my hand into your ready hold
to move in memory and seek the steps
to the oldest song of all.