My room’s not too quiet tonight. For all the heat that slips past the rafters and through the roof, the bodies twisting and entangling and laughing give out just as much and more. We celebrate motion. We capture oceans of energy. We’ll never grow tired.
A clamor comes up for the wine to be passed around. Shouts that stick together, the noise does not belong to one person. Every corner of the room where air can be found agrees, every dust mote searches until the jug pops up like the float on a fishing net and passes hand to hand.