The Linnet's Wings :Take All My Loves, My Love - Page 109

The Linnet´s Wings I hear it on the winds, my tenth one. I hear it from the ocean’s deep. Waves thunder my bark’s sides, whip away my sailors’ curses, scream we shall soon meet. My slaves prepare a place for gathering your wits after I’ve looped the lariat around golden reflections, as the crescent moon wheels into mysteries of her waning. My whip of seaweed and opal dust, wind borne from the world’s end, jumps and twists to my wishes, binds all captives’ howls to the bowels of my ship. It readies itself for you, rich man. It clouts the wattled pot my crone wove for its resting. Green and milky colours of opals confer with seaweed’s hunger, tell me in hisses and writhing soon I must open this basket. When the sea was in hiding, She wraps curses with her heart’s loneliness into the coils. My spirit sings my longing to capture you, my tenth hostage, your wealth of fields, wealth of words. Before the birch leaves turn one last time on their branches, the moon grows round in her going and returning, I will unleash my sea lariat. Seagulls shrill your name, Patrick, tell me your kingdom rests around Cambria’s mountains and valleys while you listen to silver voices. When Manannán Mac Lir bids waves to be still in their standing, pacifies white flowers of the sea with lays recited in soft voices, have a care for yourself, your gold and rubies and your secret treasure. You will be lariat-bound for my homeland. Tenth hostage of Niall of the Nine! the old woman plucked birch reeds and wove spells by the darkness of Samhain. I must snatch this rope of sea hunger and exile’s pain for my crew are in readiness to sail. My longing is deeper than the weaver’s for kind words she’ll never hear from her people who cast her in old age on the black mountain of the west. 109