Three Drops from a Cauldron - Issue 23

Page 42

Torc Those gleaming pools of mud, like a bracelet around the mound, hook a muddled mind. Perhaps that lace of runes across his back opens a book, kneels him to dig. He found a Celtic Cross last year in a car boot sale; studied the mother tongue; became Welsh. Those scrolls within his head – I’d burn but I’m married. We dig. For love, I find.

Phil Wood