Fairy Gate

Midday sun illumines
the ivied archway.
Gossamer threads
and vagaries of moss

untrammel the land I crave
in ecstasies of fay dust,
green blue bunting,
springs and watercress,

streams of spotted salmon
and a kingfisher dipping
for ancient beginnings
where the faerie sun reigns.

Long tailed tits are calling
from a distant hillside
of ferns and ransoms
where souls cling,

a butterfly museum,
wild primroses a reminder
how this world could flower
from wishes and heart-fire.

Will-o-wisp on her knees
in the ruddy light of bramble
holds a rage within that bleeds
and cannot take any longer

the long will-less nights
separated from Orion
as awe from soul-sickness
in tunnels of ghosts and madness

in the hill of souls
wings of birds and their voices
where only worm
and woodlouse can decide.

At the fairy gate
sun blazes through ivy
for a moment at midday,
never enough.

Faerie Gate, Fairy Lane


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