We two skalds sit together side by
each, looking out over centuries.
We watch the stirred pot settle till
murky situations sweetly clarify of
their own accord, attuned to an old
rhythm whose resonance is our song.
Blessed be the lost ones, those who
left, in our opinion, too soon, whose
time, they say, had come. Blessed
Goddess of Compassion and Wisdom, I need to recall,
reclaim you, invite you to return to my heart. Come back
to my heart, Love, where you are home. There’s room.
Here’s to Tailtu, foster mother to deity Lugh
whose day Lammas is. Tailtu prepared Ireland
for cultivation, clearcut demolishing all forest
Purple spikes rampant now. Cliché bounds
garden gnomes. We drink somewhat musty