A strange bird sings through my sleep
Memories of ancient lyrical language
Wind in Ogham trees creaking in the vernal
Peeper frogs chant the stone doorway open in my body
I pull the painted cart through full of old villages
Through crisp leaves of winters past into spring
Garden snake and black ant holes below the moss
In the hollow log portal I release my honeyed invocation
Feet turned backwards I walk through the mirror
Between her breasts under the two mounds of my ancestors
With my seed of star dust entering the Milky Way
Our voices catch the up draft
In the naming of things of power
Past mind and bones I step out of this drum skin
Riding the white horse with the bee staff of authority
I catch her world dreaming into mine
Tiompan being played with swan feathers
Telling me everything I should know
Horns flaming from my skull
In this ancient dance move
I remember the taking and giving of breath
Her weaving of the thousand songs I’ve longed to hear
A gifting of door ways into the heart she shines
Through my pores for all worlds to see