Seere's horse

I must needs be
wyrding my life
now
Murmur whispers dark
riddles from the past
in my ears.

I sit and listen, not to the
whispering,
but to another voice,
waiting in a circle of beeches
(each a grandmother
wise to the world).

Opening self to voice of beech,
I lay my self - hot by sun - on cool grass
(time leaves me for tomorrow)
and feel my body sinking
into another dark (moist beneath the surface).

I become aware of threads of life
touching my skin, finding ways into
the flesh, the bones, bringing mycelium wisdom into the circle
of consciousness that is left of my body.

Under the forest floor, between roots by grandmother,
the threads weave themselves even into the core of my cells
and we merge into oneness.

Out of that new being thickening
a smaller body rises up, breaks out
of earth into corporeal riddle living the wyrding.

Softly a wind kisses us, taking new words out and spreading them
like spores into world -
I find I mounted not wind, but
a winged horse into the air.

I open my eyes to find a new spring
between the beeches under
a different sun,
Seere's smile,

his horse, having fed on grass roots from all past years,
allowed me to travel on his back into
words where
remeaning the riddles
sets off rebirth.

The woods sparkle with hallowed leaves
turned into goplden spells of life -

summer of self
differently hot...