Ffynnon Mair is not hidden
from view, but facing Enlli.
Yet a visitor must approach
her down a rugged cliff edge
not made for humans passing by.
No casual tourist turns up here
for a sympathetic blessing. This
is a hard place appropriate for Mary.
The sea is caught on the rocks
beneath, thrown up in sunlight
refracted droplets held for a moment
before us, like memories, we see
a glimpse of them before they return.
Each new wave a fragment of the path
that brought us to her in between place.
Neither land nor sea, rock face nor shore line
salt nor fresh. We cannot stay long, for this
is neither the end of our journey
nor yet, the beginning of the next.
The Green Man, with the weight of the world upon
his bearded face. Sleeps. Unborn. Awaiting the moment
to arise from her salt fresh womb and we await his coming
to reconcile and heal the earth.
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