Lugh’s Garden

It’s hard not to love,
When the whole of your being
Dances like a colt
Across a spring-green meadow,
Imagining itself young.

It’s hard not to love,
When the only thing you see,
Awake or asleep,
Is the same face, the same eyes,
The same little, almost-smile.

It’s hard not to love
A soul that cries happy tears
To see lovers meet,
Puts its own pain in a box,
And brings joy to so many.

I have no control
Over the way my heart feels,
Or how I tremble
Whenever I think of you,
And it’s just so hard not to love.

I know you’re in there,
Hiding behind my eyes,
Filling the hollows in my head,
Making me wonder
Just who decided that I needed
More love.

Show yourself,
It’s okay,
I know you’re in there.

It’s not like I haven’t lived
With somebody else’s hands
Working the jib sheets,
Tacking back and forth,
Down the channel,
Trying to miss the stink pot drivers
Who can’t see passed the beer cans
In their fat, sweaty, hands.

Oh, I’ve sat at the helm,
Listening to the tactician whisper,
“Stand on, stand on, ready about.”
Waiting for the shout,
“Hard a’lea.”
Cutting over ‘til the compass reads
North by northwest,
Then standing on,
Standing on.

But this is different.
The whispers didn’t have a voice,
Just a presence behind my eyes,
And the call to tack came before
I was ready.
But I turned the helm,
And the jib swung to port.

There,
Sitting on the rocks,
Singing their silent, beckoning songs,
Their blue-green eyes
Flashing behind the tendrils of their
Foam, blonde hair,
Sat the Sirens of my life,
Smiling their bow-lipped, ruby smiles,
Laughing because they know
There’s no way in hell
That I won’t run a course
Straight into their laps.

You must think it’s funny,
Watching this,
Laughing at how a sailor can’t
Tell the difference between a siren’s lap,
And the Fiddler’s Green,
Laughing at me,
Behind my eyes,
Tempting me with
More love.

Such passion,
Pouring from a heart
So recently trampled,
Such fire,
Radiating like a nova,
Threatening to consume
Anything that can’t stand
The heat.

Such heat,
I feel it deep in the center
Of my body,
Stirring
Long dead coals,
Starting currents
That flow like oiled hands
Over my limbs,
Over everything that needs
To be touched,
By hands,
By hearts.

Such words,
Reaching deep down into
My soul,
Like hands,
Pulling the passion out of
My heart,
Consuming it
Right before my eyes,
Consuming me,
Leaving me to be
Born again,
In passion,
In love.

I live for your touch,
Though it comes not upon me,
But upon my words,
It touches me so deeply,
I have no words to answer.

I live for your words,
Though they come without your touch,
Still, they touch me so,
That even words fill me up,
Yet still, I live for your touch.

At Twilight, I shall come for thee,
On horse of misty grey,
We’ll bow us down on bended knee,
Then carry thee away.
Through forest dark, ‘cross moonlit streams,
O’er hill and treeless plain,
Beyond the stars, beyond your dreams,
We’ll ride, with hearts unchained.

At last we’ll find a castle, bright,
With music in the halls,
And gardens filled with all delights,
With birds and waterfalls.
Then I shall set thee ‘neath a tree,
With flowers, sweet of scent,
And while the night birds sing to thee,
I’ll ask for thy consent.

To hear the secrets of thy heart,
Thy hopes and dreams as well,
That I may fashion, ‘ere we part,
Bright gifts, to say farewell.
Thy dreams I’d cast in purest gold,
Thy hopes in silver, fine,
And secrets of thy heart, untold,
In gems like blood-red wine.

Though crowns and jewels, I’d lay before
Thy feet, in fine array,
If I could give thee one thing more,
These simple words, I’d say,
“Great wealth is only of the earth,
But true love is divine,
Take this, a gift of greater worth,
And know my heart is thine.”