The below poems original version (found at bottom) was written side by side with one of my more recent poems, The Hazel Tree. A huge part of writing poetry is vision and revision and still yet more revision. The poem below is what came from those simple lines (version 1,) and is in keeping with the original thoughts going through my head when I was writing The Hazel Tree.
I woke in twilight’s magic hour,
between the pitch of night,
pulled down over the land and sky
as gradient moving to blinding dark,
and the slow churning call of birds
beneath the silhouetted trees
before the rays would change all that
and make intelligible the fingers
that seemed to creep about as hands,
and in the twilight’s lap I saw
a lone bush, lit in golden hue,
not far off—but too far off to swear,
and like madness pearlescent fairies
encircled the base and drove me to stir.
I do not know if madness
had gripped the mind—or if, in truth,
I saw faeries amid the morning
fire and gold, but I now know,
that I do not believe
in the talking, in the going,
in the partaking of daily common things.
Like a southern revival I’ve grown louder
as a truth danced as myth before my eyes,
I believe in the space between
the taking of tea, the space between
the truth and lies that’s cast about as light,
and believe that if ever was needed
fairies, demons, or hideous monsters
to raise us from our twilit sleep
it’s now, when all the world’s a common thing.
Oh, I do not believe in common things,
I believe in the space between the taking of tea,
I believe that if ever was needed a fairy,
a demon, or some hideous monster to shake
the I am’s out of their wondering feet,
It’s now, when all the world is a common thing.