Wild Edric’s Lament
Godda, We are here forever, trapped in the resinous amber
of the past, honeyed flies,
carved faces staring each to each across
the arc of time.
I see you standing wind whipped hair in your mouth,
seeing me mouthing words of treaty
while you hear betrayal.
I wanted a firm fist against them, not fragile fingers
I thought I’d got you, my Godda
but you were wort wise full of cunning, while I
a wild dog roved the kingdoms.
Sometimes it’s like that, all your pigeons flocking
home under one eave, the crux
of house Carls holding homes together
against the storm.
Now I understand, you were retreating, an anchoress to the cell
of the wild wood.
And we needed hope, a cruel way to give it, prisoned in rock
your sweet revenge.
I cannot catch you now.
So, near to where Artur bore all before him, drawing his sword
from the stone of standing,
your forebears wounding mine, I sleep, waiting
for danger to wake me.
We’re all a little tender by night.
Like a fetch off Marsh Pool, you drift over my out crops
softening the strongest jerkin,
touch a deft magic in the rain, love bite
of frost shattering.
Muscles crack against confinement, hands drumming
the tap tap of impatience
knowing full well that the horn’s winding
cannot tear time.
As sure as swallows in summer, I will be