Beltane 1989

We sing to star, spit, stamp
upon the wooden terrace,
partaking by candlelight,
staggering to the toolshed,

Wax dripping mirthful tears of red and
white. With silent shovels and the belch of
bulls, our party opens up, prepares to dig
the trench. Within a clanking metal bucket,

Uprooted clumps of iris lie expectant,
brown as chestnuts. We work and move
in pairs. Swift and rocking, we extract the
glistening Earth, building pyramids black

With reverence. We kneel to pull apart
a single bulb, stalk, lay down to bury it,
smooth the hole, then pat and press
the moon-blessed mound.