Imagination/otherworld poems

I think another series of poems has begin to do with the Sidhe, otherworld, etc

Another way of thinking:

My heart is a mound, high and stern it waits

like a white horse sketched on the grass

or a pile of stones no one returned to claim.

The entry is blocked

yet easily made when intention

bothers not to focus on the task,

instead waders the landscape between

what is found and what is lost;

hears the moon

sees the wind

and lets the moon drape herself

between and upon the two of us

as we pretend a union of eternity lost in the moment —

and if we make a child of blossom and sticks,

weave a weird to ward off the decay

and find the child might yet still be breached

with on foot on the cauldron and one on the soil

so the blossoms bear fruit

and the lesser soul turns to sticks —

kindling for the sacred fire to ward off the winter's beast

that devouring boar, black as night

hungry as cold,

lost to the world when we discovered

electricity and thought all the answers

would ever be scientific.

This is not to say the climate does not warm

just that of course it does,

it must be expected,

like death and fear and awe of the little miracles

that are lost beneath the days

as we cease to respond to the beings from Hades —

where else must all the flames go

but back into the reality

we only ever acknowledge?