From the height
Above the storm.
There will be one
And that one surely grim.
Curse the lurking danger
Anxious for the fire
Blazing higher, ever
Pure fed on cruel desire.
Curse the quiet night
Before the rising end
And curse yourself
If you do not turn
To begin again.
Wish no longer that the many moments will be one
As if wishing ever could halt their flood.
Nor try a simple cut
Across the current
As if to seize however brief
A flickering of time
Clear against the covering cloud
Or slip into an eddy near the shore.
A drunkard’s dream that’s all that is;
Learn the way of clean lined fish who
Slip between the currents sliding by
Returning upstream to occupy
What had been left behind.
They see water as eagles see sky.
See time that way.
The Bradan Feasa surely knew the way
And could be apprehended many had said
When Deimne waited clever by the water’s edge
With panther’s patience and eagle’s eye.
Hero of another time, yet young
The heart of rhyme pattern for our song.
He lives, Deimne, known, knowing all.
The Fair One who did not fall.