The Druid

A whiff of cloves
Out among the wild mint
Sniff a second time and it’s gone
But just for a minute it made you think of Christmas
And suddenly the Druid is there
White-bearded as Santa
Bust ask him for a story
And he’ll tell you that a savior is born in the city
Of David

He smells somehow like the sea
Though his mouth is all desert tongues
You will be put in mind of the forest
Though he is an exile of the trees
A hint of something miraculous
Something delightful that should not be

Listen to the words he does not say
Trace the silly songs he sings
He is remembering you to the place where you were born
He is planting your bare feet to the earth
He is touching his mossy finger to god

See the Druid amongst the dust
He is bringing you the honeycomb