Aphelion Issue 273, Volume 26
June 2022
 
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Leanhaun Sidhe*

by G C Dillon


Why is there a sadness in your smile?
Glee in your tears?
You are denim, which wears like silk;
Lace heavy as leather.

Snowflake kisses, vanishing on the skin,
Weigh me down to drown.
Hold your life preserver.
I will sink, I will swim,
As you stand on the rocks
Beneath the winter-barren oak.

Branches in your hair,
Ice in your ears,
Only your pale eyes to see,
Only your tongue to lament.

If our souls were hidden inside trees,
where would yours secret itself?
A Bonsai, or Dutch Elm?
That Weeping Willow in the schoolyard
Or the Redwood far away in
Some antediluvian Pacific forest?

I shall climb your soul, rest in a bough,
Nail into your bark, and build a tree-house.
I shall feel your pulp,
Know your roots,
Consume your fruits,
And recline in the shade of your broad leaves.

I cannot augur my welcome; Today I am spring,
Carrying warmth and bright flowers,
Cool river strolls and the scent of summer.
Tomorrow you see me as autumn,
Colors kaleidoscoping before they sink to the ground,
Winter winds beckoning from distant hills.

We swing like Foucault's pendulum in a circle.
This ambivalence must end,
yours and mine.

Take my hand;
I'll lead you into Arctic darkness.
Take my hand;
And let pains settle in ever sinking currents.
Take my hand;
Lead me into solstice sunlight.
Take my hand;
And allow scars to fade.
Take my hand;
I'll lead you into this moment.
Take my hand;
And lead me into love.

Let us join hands,
And lead each other.
Let us join hands.

* Gaelic for “Fairy Lover,” for those who are interested.


© 2005 G C Dillon

G.C. Dillon is a Connecticut resident by birth, a computer programmer by training, and a writer by inclination. He has been published by quantummuse.com (Museletter 4/2005), deep-magic.net ("Glimmer", writing challenge 3/2005), scribaltales.com ("The Cat and the Moon" 1/2005), and scifidimensions.com (letters to the editor 12/2004, 1/2005). When he is not engrossed in legacy COBOL, Java, Python or PL/sql, he likes to shoot off his mouth at the Aphelion Lettercol under the nom-de-plume (nom-de-ordinateur?) of 'Cuchulain.'

Find more by G C Dillon in the Author Index.

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