Anyone Who Spends the Night on Cader Idris Will Die, or Return Mad or a Poet

1 November 2012

(With Taliesin, Battle of the Trees)

I travelled in the earth before I was proficient in learning

once
and again once

time layers until the piling on the piling contains the gems and the corpses of everything we might once have to become

I will prophesy not badly

time circles a cliff bay at the saddle of Cader Idris – sometimes a red kite with her fragmented cry – her beak poking at singularities – sometimes in wave pulses of wind she flies on – but always in cliff rocks who chant in such long breaths that listening with my feet is the only way to hear

I was enchanted by the sage
Of sages, in the primitive world

toes reach with mind’s pause so that time’s flight rushes and stalls long enough to speak – rooted into the strata so that mountain’s layers are places where kites circle on a wind – rocks singing and moving – laughter in the ages of their becoming

The mountain has become crooked

I am rocked in the full embrace
I am kite circling with a cry

I travelled, I made a circuit

and then silence

I have been a tear in the air

once
and again once

I played in the twilight

 


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