I came to be, long ages past it seems to me,
In the land of the hidden people,
The painted and tattooed people
Who carved their spirits into stone,
In geometry and animal forms,
But keeping their secrets unwritten,
Rather dying than reveal the drunken poesy
That spilled from the heather onto their lips.
Fields to school me, filled with wheat,
Or fly-buzzed sheep and cattle.
Basket of eggs lined with silver filigree,
Where sea surrounds to fuse with skies
Rarely entirely blue.
Settling in time, for the next long age,
I lived as a young man in the land of Aneirin,
Gododdin, land between the walls.
An age of craft and riches,
Of walking the Lady's stony breasts,
Meeting with the stag in the deep wood,
Learning the wonders of the trees.
An age of climbing, striving,
Gaining gold and home,
Even a powder blue Lady of Mercy.
An age, as it became, of the Tower,
Building so much on sand, you see -
Wife and work until they broke me.
And so to a new age, and a new land,
Emergent moth, drab and closer to the light.
That light become a new, red, love,
(Still harkening for Celtic shores by blood)
And all begins anew.
Anew in arid, sun-chased places,
Scrubby trees root in sun-dried seas,
Beneath me a league of shellfish stone
And black gold squeezed from life
By geological weights of time.
Petroglyphs tell faintly of the earliest here,
Camped by spring to trade and follow bison,
Soft Jumano whispers on the wind.
Here in this age I have found an oasis, my magic,
Children brought by love, mine now wholehearted.
The littlest Stitch, my flesh, glitched and knows it, alas -
My care and my happy thought.
I'm looking to future aeons.