The Gazebo leans.
Ivy creeps on the concrete base.
Crooked planks tilt.
Wild roses welcoming.
A tiny insect on the wooden desk.
Warm air, morning mist.
Rain-drop pearls on straggly grass.
Wild flowers scramble on Ruairi’s rest.
A white butterfly visits.
Bird chirrup In a tangle of thorns.
Blackberries still green.
to screech at full-tide.
The Gazebo tilting on the southerly side.
I am crow.
Crow I see.
Black, my colour for Swan to greet.
I am swan. With Crow I see.
White is my colour, for tears to weep
in a river-weed tangle around my beak.
I am the river. With Swan I hold
secrets, to carry and tell to the sea,
where the song of the deep will know the truth,
seen in the eyes of peacock, blue.
I am peacock, a rainbow frieze
of beauty and love and broken dreams.
With phoenix I walk to the setting sun,
the night will soon be overcome.
I am Phoenix. In flames I tread.
From ashes I rise with a golden egg.
Crow wants to know what I can see.
I am Crow. Crow is me.