You are not enclosed within your bodies nor confined to houses or fields. That which is you dwells above the mountain and roves with the winds.
On Samhain’s night by a waxing moon
the veil was thin, the spirits drew near,
their music was heard in rocks, deep as a drum
beating hard and true against my heart.
I felt them in the Irish mountain rains
whose clouds I follow keenly, like a nun.
I saw them too in the embers of my hearth
and in the candle’s flame.
Today, I scry in my crystal ball
on an Indian summer’s morn,
my tiny cottage windows are open wide.
and sylphs rush in on the breeze.
I pass my dreams to them,
attaching a prayer of hope
that Truth will always prevail,
far and wide, way above treetops.
My dreams can fly with joy
but should they ever fall in pain
I know they will reform
by magic and by alchemy
to form a sacred touchstone for my soul.