Here is a poem about things that happened over a decade ago, and three illustrations of one my favourite childhood faerie tales featuring Beira, Aengus Og and Bride. Do they have anything to do with anything I am currently feeling / thinking about / am supposed to be doing. No. Is that probably a sign that my Adopted, Autistic ass is really bad at processing grief and will do art about anything except what I am currently feeling… probably. Anyway, here are some things my brain actually let me finish lately:
A Song, To “Annabel Lee”:
Do you remember when we were sixteen?
And thought the world would be changed by our dreams.
Our steps skipping lightly as we went walking
My head on your shoulder as we walked arm in arm.
The world was both harsher, and simpler at sixteen.
The bitter wind bellowed, but could do us no harm.
Do you recall picnicking beneath apple blossom
The smell of the forest beneath the sky
The rest of our lives lay stretched out before us
Never doubting the way we would walk, you and I
Late nights of laughter spent joking and drinking
Flirting and fighting, still half in play
The joy of our meeting, arms eagerly linking
Eager to share all our thoughts of the day.
When I was a child just turning seventeen,
I thought that the world would bend to my dreams,
Our steps skipping lightly as we went walking
My head on your shoulder your arm in my arm.
The world was both harsher, and simpler at seventeen.
Winds whipped crueller and colder, but could do us no harm.
We were bright eyed with wonder at all we were learning
Our minds quickening with the intemperance of youth
Our hearts barely conscious they were filling with yearning
Our daydreaming souls, blind to the truth.
We rode on the waves welling between us
leaped lightly to harbour by the limestone strand
Sun-bleached and smiling while the world was simple
Unweighted by secrets, my hand, light, in your hand.
Do you remember the spring time at eighteen?
With our secrets un-whispered in the space where we dreamed.
Dreaming of all we would do, we sat talking,
We marched shoulder to shoulder, we danced arm in arm.
Our friend-love could soften a harsh world at eighteen.
Until we grew older, and where was the harm?
I woke to a vision of your hair, reddened in sunlight.
That came dappled and dancing through the dregs of the thaw.
My singing heart, soaring, in the warmth of that daylight.
I woke to freedom, you woke to a fall.
That daylight gave lie to all you held sacred;
The night shades whispered with promise of more.
I may never sound the spring of your hatred;
The waves of your breaking on my pitiless shore.
Do you remember the hubris of nineteen?
Thinking we could shape the world to our dreams?
Too tired for fighting and too angry for talking,
Both too ridged and ready to rally to arms.
The world was both harsher and simpler at nineteen.
How could we not cause each-other harm?
Once they are spoken, words can not be bridled.
When you look back, what rived us more?
The verses you quoted? My retorts, you reviled?
Or the secrets you spoke to that rock shattered shore?
I hope righteousness wins you the heaven you hunger for.
Are your thoughts ever troubled by the soul you would save?
Have you banished the blackness of doubt sown between us?
Would you still consign your friend to the grave?
Hemlock Fragment:
Bitter hemlock umbels burdened
by November seeds
Their brittle stalks that reach and whisper
Between the battered reeds.
Cast their hope upon the surface
of the spangled stream
To find a way to bloom and blacken
Where the river winds and dreams.
This Is Not An Image Of Loss 
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