Stumbling blind in my mind’s bitter night
bells tolled as the unbidden hill rose.
I wept at the yew’s unearthly roots
and sang to the forbidden world.
My heart of darkness tore apart
at dread of a funeral procession,
the fear they had locked my cold corpse
grey and stiff within the glass coffin.
Their leader pale and black garbed
stunned me with beauty and terror.
I knew I must look into the glass box
or live forever stumbling through error.
I viewed my face – a floating visage,
not a body but the reflection
of a frightened girl torn in half,
trapped in ghastly predilection.
The Fairy King (for he revealed his name)
promised entrance through a hidden door
to a land and face beyond the glass
if I set aside my churlish thoughts.
I sang again by the yew at twilight.
I exchanged one spell for another
and rode with him into the fairy night,
not knowing if I would be recovered.
Butterflies haunt ivy chandeliers.
A wren sings from the fern rich heart.
The lady in the sycamores looks out
on a woodland bathed in elfin arts.
My return remains a mystery.
I do not know if I am live or dead.
The spell persists with my fateful words-
all around me the Fairy World lives.