That secret language
can the speaking
no less writing of it
be upon us this day.
For we may set sail
for that furthest shore
the star that is by us
relative of myth and Manannan.

But first the stillness
that’s in it must you peer
and lips imbibe
his brew of mists weaved.
Seer hazel guarded source
will find you soonest
with heron and salmon,
brethren by sisteren.

All that you need

in the setting sail

of that intent
a blessing, trianaid.
Upon you the finding will be
a task, a guide, the words
writ legend as Oisin, Niamh
eternal releasing your mythic death.

As Sinann flows with the salmon of wisdom,
so too does Manannan ride the waves of wanderlust
searching farthest shores for sweet succour at
swan maiden’s breast and selkies’ moonlit whispers. There is a gate at the Isle of Avalonian apples Manannan makes a cider of…