To dance with Lugh, you dance the coming storm:
The shivering wind, the rain that steals your breath,
Blinded by light, you allemande with death
In joy, whirling your way to be reborn.
His spear strikes home. An ecstasy of pain
Places fire in your heart that spreads to every limb,
Your tongue unhinged to sing the lightning’s hymn
Elided by memory, but scribed in you like your name.
He changes that, too, as he lifts your broken heart
From the cage of your chest to crack it on the stones,
Breathes on it instead, and when it begins to beat alone
Returns it to you. He is the master of every art.
This storm can hold your heart in its tender hand
Or call the dance at the limit of your command.