We do not know exactly what is believed
until the moment it is placed at feet,
there is either faeries at the bottom,
deep within the well or there is the knot
after knot that is tied together as anchor.
I woke to want magic to save the world,
the belief that faeries could still be here
amid the grinding mechanical gears
and disquiet within our heads and world.
There is a tree within mythology,
with roots extending to the underworld.
The hazel at the borders hides fairies,
and all creation is astir.
Unbounded and incomprehensible
this fountain beneath the hazel is still,
and when I think of that I go to seek
the turning gyre amid the gold leaves
flitting by with the passage of my dream.
I fell asleep beneath the hazel tree,
and in my waking saw faeries glinting
and dancing their tunes in the golden dawn.