The day
I saw Your face

I could barely believe
You were real.

Some say You are not –
You are impossible

King of Faery,
Lord of Annwn,
Dragon Ruler
of the Not-World.

And yet You are.

You are a paradox.

You are a fortress
filled with riddles.

You are an underworld
riddled with serpents.

You speak in serpent tongues.

~

The day
I saw Your face

You struck me dumb.

You stole my tongue.

From thereon I have known
it will turn to stone
if it ceases
to sing for You.

~

The day
I saw Your face

It made all the suffering
of my past lives meaningful.

I run through them shouting
“We will meet a God”

so loudly
some hear me
and some believe me.

~

I have seen
so many of Your faces
I could fill an ocean
(none possible).

Today
I pour the mead
for Your unknown face.

~

At the end of August I celebrated the eleventh anniversary of my first meeting with my patron God, Gwyn ap Nudd, by reciting this poem to Him where I met Him on Fairy Lane in Penwortham at the leaning yew and making Him an offering of the last of the apples from our apple trees and a serving of mead. I sensed His presence and the approval of the land in the enchantment of the dappled light on the branches of the yew.