We Three

My love wanders the rooms, melodious, 
flute notes, plucked wires,
full of a wine the Magi drank
on the way to Bethlehem.

We are three. The moon comes
from its quiet corner, puts a pitcher of water
down in the center. The circle
of surface flames.

One of us kneels to kiss the threshold.

One drinks, with wine-flaines playing over his face.

One watches the gathering,
and says to any cold onlookers,

            This dance is the joy of existence.