Upon dreaming: Red ribbons
Tea stains on the counter
A secret drawer waiting
For my new encounter
But somebody lives there
And they do not know me
From Turkey or Poland
I cannot remember
And Oisín is taken
By the gold woven wonder
Everyman is taken by the cloths woven in heaven
And the reddleman, conflicted, is still missing Moses
But with the body lethargic
A streak of dead grey comes
“Thats Ailsa Craig ravished”
Eyes close by gallowglass
Vision: Outer Hebrides
What does that even try to be?
That takes me down pebbles
Still, perched on the hidden side
That leads to the garden
The buzz laden rostrum
You’re there oh you’re there
And that’s where you’re forever
And its ‘ternoon, oh ‘ternoon
Its ‘ternoon forever
The Angelus resounded
The Angelus just passed
The man and the echo
With his hand on the cold rock
A butterfly perches
Oh I know who that is

The Angelus
The Angelus
The Angelus

Upon thinking and hearing:
Pittering on the pebbles
We looked at each other
In red trepidation
Oh yes it was still, you
Still, perched on the hidden side
“Ah yes, and then, do you know?
That I did hear it sing...
...eight times did I hear Him,
move His divine pinion”
And He did use His wings
To flurry a shadow
As we say so sweetly
That “You carry a word”,
Though it stood, He did so
Setting for the first word:
It was the turn of sun,
The one true line was blurred
He went on mentioning
That He had heard a bid of woefulness
For you had seen Him and
He was self aware
He knew about what He
Was well known then to bare
He fluttered off shyly,
But was hourly replaced
By others with their words
Their words were like numb hits
You ask me, quite real,
And its then, that I notice,
The look that was slashing
“What was that? Do you know?
oh please say, or leave here”
The first word: “I love you,
keep vigil with me tonight”.

A word
The word
The word…

*I have come to believe so many strange things because of experience, that I see little reason to doubt the truth of many things that are beyond my experience.

He
I

Ten words, to the ardent buttress
Borne, wrapped, caul
I am with you

Of no avail untold, unmarried
Ten birds to mention, with no malady, my aria
I am with you

Are as grist to the mill to
Our lady’s fervent features
I am with you

May the speckled shackles fall
From the hue of those days, withal
I am with you

You are not, still, frozen music
You have not, hit that age
I am with you.

Quaint relics, in-handed marble, is not the ave.
The ground’s as sure as stone.
An air of pulsing parchment, little girl
The jars hang full of questions, little girl.

Under-vining, these rattling skies, is not the ave.
The cradle, Sunday skin.
These key things maybe present, little girl
The tune is of your essence, little girl.

If human-sung candescence, is not the ave.
In all it’s maple clouted heart halls.
There’s enough ways through it, little girl
There are many chambers to it, little girl.

Six days inside a mirror, is not the ave.
A dilation flame.
RE:M-embers in veiled reflections, little girl
You’ll revel in yourself soon now, little girl.

This warren of green curtains, is not the ave.
In an Athean shroud.
The darkened path revealed, little girl
In relived absolutions, little girl
Lace threads clear entwist, little girl
You love that colour, don’t you, little girl
An Esker span beneath, little girl
Within hills of holy streams, little girl
Flawed rhymes in elevens, little girl
Be mindful of the chances, little girl
Know that I am with you, little girl.