TY CANOL WOOD
It is a narrow house, the wood that is made for eternity.
A smoke of dream shivering upwards into air.
The roots of it smoulder below, flame-leaves lick.
It is a narrow house we are born into.
So much that cannot be reached, cannot be known.
The paths wander between moss boulders and broken bedrock,
clothed in thick green life.
Constrained by thin earth, yet they all do seem to dance,
and at night, some say, they walk
and the rock creaks open,
light spilling from golden halls,
and that unnerving perfect music, too.
A narrow road and a narrow house we have set ourselves,
But that is not the world’s way.
She dances and throws it all away in broad gesture,
Sings at the central hearth, though no-one listens much,
and knows that song is food for every soul.
Feels the billowing thunder head, this haze of gnats,
the invisible silver threads beneath,
and the chains of finest gold,
and the footprints of old gods between the stars,
that is birdsong here
in Ty Canol Wood.
—
This ancient small woodland in Pembrokeshire is named from the nearby house, Ty Canol, ( the central, middle, house). It has links to Otherworld inhabitants, and has a definitely magical atmosphere. Here I am contrasting the open, generous quality of the natural world with the restricted experience of mortality and human perception. The coffin is sometimes traditionally referred to as a narrow house and the tomb to a house of earth.
simonhlilly 
Splendidly radiant! A creative endeavour well actuated.
I’m interested in what you mentioned in the explanation at the end. You mention a house and go so far as to say it’s the middle one. I looked it up on the internet but couldn’t find anything and there’s no photo in your post to identify it?
Ty canol is the Welsh for ‘middle house’. ( ty = house, canol = middle, central) A common name for houses. The present Ty Canol is the name of the farmhouse on the edge of the wood by which the footpath into Ty Canol wood passes.
Thanks! Such a deep, long ago history in your poem.