Dancing the body back into the land,
patchworking the soul back from the brink,
(deep remembering)
a soft return, like a feather lilting on the breeze,
or a spore carried far from home, to weave its hyphae into the dreams of ancient places.
On The Mountain, webbed with moonlight enmeshed in quartz, vibrated by the urgent frequencies of gulls, gorse, bees, heather and bramble.
Framed by the endless blue from which we all crawled
(an eternity ago, moments ago)
and to which we shall sink once more, body and spirit,
like the Atlanteans, the dolphin-folk, the selkies,
back into the cauldron of whale song, stirred by lunar currents that swill through our veins still.