Inishmore

Embraced by waves, winds, fairy dust
the Isle will do the work.
She’ll lift, kiss, nourish you
as cows nurse on the curves of her breast.

She’ll hear your pilgrim prayer
as you step upon her stones
as your heart sings songs of presence
as she gently heals your wounds.

You will listen in her stillness.
You will see a world that shimmers.
You will name your beasts and passions
with a voice that is your own.

She will spin you dizzy till you grasp
your vulnerability.
She’ll receive the ribbons of your wishes
on her Hawthorne trees.

When you fall, her arms will catch you
in her thickets, on her thorns
until you cease your struggle
reaching out to others’ arms.

Inverted cups of penitents
poured out upon the rocks
are lifted up, creation blessed
with echoes of the past.

Ascend the hills, release the bees.
There is a time to fight.
Dance round bright fires, spring is here
to celebrate new life.

Come to the door now with yourself
a spiral well descending.
With courage draw a clear, cool drink
as darkness brings beginnings.

Hear the Island whisper
the wisdom of your soul.
You are loved and gifted
as creation make you whole.

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