when double spirals
mark and guard the
doorways to the
fortress of the
year

unsainted
fools and
heroes
gone to
ground in
summer
lost or
found
they are
gone down
gone on
before
inside the
scheduled
interregnum

(i have been both
the sailor and
the sea)

station of
death, the
yew resists
within itself
its own
corruption

with seven days before
and seven after winter
solstice surely
certain
resurrection
is the
province of the
fool

this
living
death all
three of
them have
known
in every
cycle
they are
always busy 
dying they are
waiting to be
born 

(for i have seen
and been myself 
both nightmare
and this
dream)

so wise men
keep to
chimney corners
black with
soot
inside and
outside
white with
snow

the holly
king the
ivy where the
green knight
dies and
lives
again

immortal twins the
little gods of
oak and ass-end
given to the
soil and buried
fight and die
eternal for the
goddess of the
wheel

(i have been both the
barrier and the path)

all three
now lost
this year
to one
another
ceremonies
separations
of the corn and
chaff they ride that
hunt through fields of
grain at the center of
whirlwinds
spinning
the sea
becalmed

(i don't know
how to
tell you
what i
feel
i walk and
talk and
shop but
it's not
real)

and all the
signs of
heart and
soul with
love and
death
between them
now are
buried
under
ground

(in dreams you come
towards me in the sun)

and all we ever have to hold of
anyone at the end of days in
memory are echoes that
dissolve at the end of time

halcyon
bird is
visible on
water
carries her
dead
mate on her
back and
mourns him

in love they give
to love they will return

(somebody
has
to cut
the thread
the red
witch said
cause now
he's dead)

Penelope
unravels her own
wedding dress her
swaddling clothes her
shroud this time
not under ground but
endlessly
left outside
in the living
world above

in memory they
stand at last in
light still caught
inside the final
stillness of that
moment just
before they knew each
other and let
go

(i have been both
the needle and
the tapestry)

set free to
live he
cut the
thread the
ties that
bind the
time they
shared that
moment when
she knew him
to be
clean
he didn't

hesitate is
lost she knew his
insides all the
parts noone could
see he blew the
whistle on her
messages of
warning and that
croupier's
wheel that
stops in
dreams for
her in every
round they
did not
dance
on the
red
always

(i could not
hold you
long, but i
remember every
time and
place and
this i
would not
ever want to
lose)

the eaglet's
bones in his
nest, and the
snow on the
cliff-ledge
inside
this year's
mountain
walk

after the world has
ended they will
still be dancing
patterns in the
nightsky stars
patrolling
borders of
eternity

(in every
life we
meet on
sacred
ground
and you don't
know me
it is
always
the first
time)

Sweeney
here
on the
track of
trouble
(all things
come to
he who
waits)

the white one
child of the
harvest
basket gone to
seed to
sea in a
coracle he
dreams of
sailing 

(i have been both
the target and
the blade)

sargasso sea
becalmed
that song
unheard still
sings to
all of them
on the horizon
sisters
weaving
a northern
loom

(this is the
maze that
we were
meant to
enter in
together)

met at the ford
transfixed between
the sinew and
the bone
the crone
wearing her song of
battle on her
sleeve
she knows him
waiting

(and i have been
both ford and flood
in the red always)

well-met this time
my father and my
brother but whose
cauldron is it
that you carry
here red man with
half a cart my
own true son
this cup that cannot
pass untimely
prophecy
in which the father
kills the son who
kills the father

(but i have loved
them both
the father
and the son)

and they have killed each other now in
turn twice yearly from the dawn of time

(so though we are cut loose from
 time at last floating and
free, we who have been
in the light world darkness turn
to make in the dark world light
scar tissue fades it all
fades but still we stand here
waiting, for how else can we
ever know for sure
what we are meant for?)

dragged by the feet around the
walls of Troy in arms
forever losing ground
the hero lies recumbent
on his pyre the corn king
burned alive the child is
torn apart again
Gwion is eaten and
reborn as Taliesin
the poet

(i'm
always
walking
over
my own
grave)

cry seven days before
and seven after winter
solstice surely
certain
resurrection
is the
province of the 
Fool

and surely everybody knows by
this time it is death to mock a
poet and to love a poet
and to be a poet so i
wonder which you bring me in this
endless summer now between the
lines today redrawn again
to fit the world that follows after
every final battle for these
lessons at the
ford

(the parts that matter
are the ones not here)

Cerridwen
the old sow
eating of
carrion her
cauldron
now is
ready 

blood is the way that all of them remember.
that maiden's not called Bloddeuwedd for naught.
it calls to know exactly what they are.
still, there is more than one way through
that labyrinth, and even predators can 
change and choose to make of blood communion

so in another
time we will come
again

(i have been both
the cauldron
and the flame)

the city
turns
on its axis
in the dark
its mirror turns
beneath it and
devours

(come watch me
falling
off the
edge
of the
world that
you are
falling
into)

pieces of eight
pieces of moon
entrails of man on a
northern loom
when shall we three
meet
again?
on the
twelfth of
never

(come and
dance in
hell and
in high
water)

and so Bran's
robin
crucified: i
said the sparrow
with my arrow
turn and turn
about i
always
catch what i
chase

(no pleasure in
that deed i did
tormenting him
tormenting what
i treasure)

walls falling down and
built again,
turning on axis,
living chessboard
into one more
set that looks the
same

(when i was broken
you still saw me
whole)

corn and
chaff no
dance now
in the
barn
it isn't
time no
space
between
undone
you think
you're done
you don't know
who you are
what you've become
sidereal
between the
lines

(the ebbing that has
come on me is
not the ebbing
of the sea)

transfixed between
the sinew and
the bone
this much was
known

and out of
foam in
swaddling
clothes in
winding
shroud
at last
again
once
more all
three are
rising
to be
born

(i dare not
wind my
arms
around thee)

station of birth the
cradle waiting
loss and longing
sliding down the
birth canal in the
darkness of the
mysteries of
mothers into
time
third time's the
charm
who's got the
chime?

they are
made 
again
without
stain

(for i have known you
always in a world i don't
remember
where we were not ever
broken and we
always loved in light)

and truth comes in
with the glint of
silver
prophecy on the
wings of the
piebald
magpie
comes to
town
and sits in the
Tree of
Life

the two who can are
moving now in
spirals doubled
dark and light they
come to guard the
doubled spiral
doorways of the
castle turning
out of death and
darkness on its
axis out of
mourning into
morning into
ordinary
life

in pain so hard and
bright and violent
all alone
alive and
therefore
dying 
but still
every
single
moment
is a 
wonder
that is
waiting
to be
known

(and i have been
in dying
twice reborn)

peace offering
in faith from those who
cannot die but still keep faith in
her no longer offering that
dark communion spilling useless
buckets of seasalt over
each other's setpiece endings always
serially dying now is
wheeling into
Troy

(we
three were
Called in
three we
are still
One)

the castle of
Arianrhod
oracular
resplendent
turns again
against the unstarred
night with one bell
ringing in the
empty
sky