Opening

Autumn opens
a hysteria of leaves
sobbing a chaos
of whirling colours
born dishevelled
and torn from
the gateway
of the gleaming oak.

I am a rider
on Annwn’s winds
flung beyond the mound,
reeds and marsh lights
where Peg o’ Lantern
guides lost souls
down to the rivers
of the deep.

The moon bridge
haunts the tidal lake
shining across
the bones of suicides,
a pegasus to ride
the seas of space,
to fly to the stars
with the dead of centuries.

I look back
from moon’s embrace
on all who stood
within the gateway
in their oaken boats
and grand oak coffins,
their processional routes
like star lit rivers.

Those who walked
the margins,
the brambled hedge
and oaken padway
or succumbed to the marsh
smile once more
at the feasts
of the sky and the deep

until the leaves
are thrown
across the end
of destiny,
they fall like stars
and the seas
swallow all
but the old oak tree.

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