Here is the smell of seafood pie

a broken tower on the open sky

a chain of islands rolling west

in sight of the house where we are guests



A rambling old river twists through the fields

ancient names imprinted on shields

Gifts arrive for a baby girl

born a queen at the end of the world



Furious music from an open door

The sound of feet beating on a stone floor

Always the wind, always the form

of an Elder God, hooved and horned



The head of the mountain lost in a cloud

a country woman, soft and proud

Into the bay the horses swirl

for we come to the sea at the end of the world