An Cailleach Bheara


Purple-skied nets cast out on a lonely sea

An old woman sits at the prow

Her eyes bright hollows of dancing light

Dandelions catching fire under an August sky,

Incense breathes through her mouth

Light and feathered like a memory

Time hangs suspended in the moulted sky

She looks through your eyes.

In the cavern of flux

The moonlit sand is full of shapes

That dance and intermingle,

Under the silver-webbed silence

Of her dreaming corpse.


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