an bóthar fiáin

What slumbered
so long

within the Oak
within the stone
within the bones

of drowned men
and fallen kings

rises now
green with the life
that flows into
the places carved
by what the green  dissolved.

As Midsummer 
began to fade
into darkness

the ones at the gate
demanded a toll:

that the stories
of exile and dishonor
be acknowledged 

and given to the fires
of transformation,

that their ash 
not be discarded
nor disclaimed
nor claimed 
as  mark
of unworthiness 

but become an offering
to make fertile
the land

and the scars
become so song lines
that mark the way by day

while at night
the gravity of wild love
arranges the stars
into new constellations

that guide me
out of a wasteland
that blooms
behind me

as I sing the song
that brings me home

to the grove
and the bower
and life's one altar

where you might me
if you Will

in love and freedom
in the country
called forth
by the dreaming
that shapes lives
and worlds anew.

—-

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