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In village Taraigh
smoky limbs - gaunt grey
arms akimbo
twirl an' sweep from stumpy stacks,
peep faces from chimneys
to dark night falling
whilst 'draggled' owl cedes to instincts
navigation near done, over
from-by this old beast dying

was time
when ancients told
an owl's screech oft heralds
its sleep of fame full blameless
that the echoes
'cross valley an' path to peaks
play welcome to another world..
but nobody told
who unlocked the way to Great Tawny

there in the midst of Gharigh Bael
sits he a'bough
watching grime-grey shadows
seep midnight dark
eating holes 'bout mourning Moon's faint reflection -
hiding his face 'neath
sentry Sirius' soft wing,
feebly stretching
invisible path 'cross Sloulti tarn

this - his many years wise-royal realm
filled full to brim
of beasts a'plenty
of tales told of the heat of slate..
'.. avoid the rise
of the grey gasp born of earth
flames burned from northern old oak
once the rest of my night
the home of my love.. '

the poet heaves a solemn sigh
hears moans of winter come
crisping an' crunching
the sharp sheen of holly to raw rich silver
an' in a nearby coppice
trembles a proud full stag
holding tears at bay with sucking gums
remembering
the sound of his friend's wings sweeping space

in the dull of midnight
barley sugar stack loses helm
to the murk of smoke-smudged Monday
comes now
Basaillun Mort with song-smiling face alive .
an'  - soft from velvet night
far beyond in the best of brightling space
an owl calls in woman tone
'Come lover mine, come fly.'

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