The Trees Were Dancing and Soaked

to the white wood of their hearts
when, finally, we fumbled our way through the dark
to the clearing where night was only a thin net
that tied one side of the forest to another.
 
In the middle we stood and the rain
pressed our hair flat and dripping
and covered us all in the summer of evening,
the dripping, warm, firefly summer
of evening which accepted us as its own.
Wet flowers kissed our ankles as we walked
and dusk rolled itself out
to welcome us to the night
and the pattering of rain on tree branches.