Bod Teircaill

From below a trail
of floury footprints
aspic set
in the high deep lapis

tired of dancing
the up down round
of rain above
the furrowed ground

Bod Teircaill shakes and
with arms arrayed,
fanned fingers wide,
shrugs of the Earth

catching full hold
of Cymbeline’s draught
he peeee-uu’s aloft
and re-marries the sky