A Fairy Tale from Celtic Hearts

Burrowed into the emerald hills

I have found the ghosts of waves resonant

in every whistle of the reflection—

it lay beneath a stream dark as indigo.

 

I found the horse that would carry me back

across grey scale and falling sand

hoary as the one that held its hours

as a cloud its gift of rain.

 

There we rode across the moon

under baths of silver light youth made

sparkle in that distant sky, eternal

save for the need to breathe, and live, and love—

 

It touched my palms, this dream of mine

without cause or grace or end to mystery;

yet it fell, as perfection always does

until the next promise of a nightly love.