I watch frosty air trails overhead
like dragon-tails slithering by.
They speak of empty travels
Momentarily, they block out the stars.
A second or two later, they are gone.
The Seven Sisters
beam down from above
and then become a swaying amulet
on an old Druid woman’s neck.
“Wake up from the dream,
from inside the dream,” she says.
Then I am on a woodland path.
It is twilight; not day, not night.
The thick, foggy air - mossy bright.
I bend low to a small boy
who is with me on the trail.
I ask: “Do you see him?”
Off in the distance,
in the middle of the path,
a deer shifts his great antlered head
from side to side,
watching for further movement.
Then, the Mystery of Mysteries
reveals myself to myself.
I answer back in a hushed voice: “I see him.”
My older self replies: “Good.”
A missing part of myself,
with a well-traveled part of myself,
at the gate of the Otherworld,
the Stag God looking on.