For Caffy I think all my friends are from Tir na nóg the sideways people with a silver branch in their hands the ones who don’t quite fit the skin they were born in sitting on the edge of a western sea on another planet of water where the tea is brewed from the dew of the hazel of wisdom And the sugar we share is the crushed bone of a dead empire. We are looking out over to Rocklands where the grey stones are beginning to breathe and the moss is whispering secrets to the soles of our boots. They are the rulebreakers the ones who forgot how to tell the time on an iron clock The artists who paint with the sap of the rowan tree the outsiders with wings tucked under their thrift store coats. I see them, and I see the Tuatha Dé Danann drinking cold coffee and talking about the moon. they lean back Changelings left in the crib of the city there to remind the concrete how to dream carrying the health of Tír na mBeo in their marrow while the rest of the world decays in the grey light. An other...