One more new one

Psyche tou Kosmou:

(The soul of the world)

For me, it can be an apple

hanging from the branch, transcendent globe, heavenly orb

that transports me to the here and now.

I see the worm, sense the push of flesh against skin

feel the sun burning green to red

even, if the day is clear, the mind too,

the sound of roots expanding;

gripping the earth, holding it in place and further still

I travel without moving, transfixed,

until the aos sí come walking past

or daemons flick at my hair;

I hear the singing of the people of the mounds

wander into the world of the dead

always here and seldom found,

rest for a time in that place where the real is sound

and light and most of all, it is imagination

ground in the space both in and out

the mind

I expand and contract

breath and do not

shout so loud I find silence

and in that shadow that is sunlight

I touch, even for a moment that lasts a year

the soul of the world

which waits for me even as I leave.