Heritage

for Janet Parker

Once when suns were maned and male
And moons to women given,
Some Celt shamaness unshriven
As an alder brake stood fast in the gale
Of her own wild hair as you do
Now, would neither recant nor confess
But conjured a land called Lyonesse
Where past grim polarities, blue
Night and amber Day consorted
Like royals, wove a world without
A one right way or a self-doubt,
Claimed counties crammed with assorted
Harvests, and cancelled all the debt
That anyone owed austerity. She could
Do no less than burgeon - the greenwood
Pleaded for it, the green sea let
Its deep entreaty wash green hearts,
The swirl of air in her aura greened
With promise, as all divided things leaned
Toward her, your ancestress in the arts
Of recollection.