At the clean break of dawn
I make my suburb the centre
of the world, stand in my truth
with a head full of fire
and a fistful of fairy dust.
On the river’s bend
the green hill stands open
like a jewel. In its darkness
the King of Annwn’s moving doors
grant passage beyond our narrow laws.
Come to me shapeshifter,
white mare with wings
of a swan, wear your horn,
I will not disown you for poetry
outrides the mocking crowds
quick as footfalls through cloud
or laughter through a thunderstorm.
Though I live amongst city makers
I will fly with the moon riders.
Let magic be done.