Epithalamion On Saint John’s Eve

Let a hundred lamps be lit.

Drape the doorways with fennel

and white lilies. As in years past,

Set a table in the courtyard with beer

and sweet bread. Welcome drifters,

friends– turn neighbors to kin.

Let songs be sung. Let stories

plume like smoke, like blooms

of crops in the June-green fields.

At sunset, spark bonfires

on hilltops. Burn bones, old rosaries—

distance what spirits would do us harm.

Keep awake and witness the stars,

those small fires of midsummer.

Feel the air thrum, alive with souls.

See the lamps strung high

in white birches, a baptism

of bright flames above our streets.

When the time comes, walk

the bridge between worlds—a ritual

we keep to herald this beginning

KAT HAYES