Parting Words On The Table.
I tried to ignore:
the lone magpie on the bog road
dead blackbird outside my window
assembly of dark clouds
blunt pencil that wouldn’t be sharpened
the stars misaligned
empty bottle of red wine
extinguished fire from your cigarette
song of your phone in the middle of the night
lack of eye contact
broken pane of stained glass
sugar granules scattered on the table
your cup of Connemara fishermen left untouched
the way you walked in front or behind.
I tried to remember:
our first kiss
your insistence that we meet
our journey to the mountain top
your hand in mine
the fever of your touch
long walks on a rocky beach
requests for reassurance
touching remarks
lying on the grass listening to jazz
taking shade under an oak
discussion of common friends
talk of the past
camera in your grasp
meals shared
conversations enveloped in your arms
introduction to your world
mutual fears
your witty charm.
The tide has reached the harbour wall,
now that you have put the night between us
it rains in the dark.
In Company on Barr Chiar�in
Life took on a different perspective
from the summit of Barr Chiar�in,
windmills scolded the air, their magnificent
white height couldn’t but impress.
Bog cotton regrouped in swallow holes,
their wave almost a dare,
pretty pink blossoms assembled in different
orders, dark peat of wetlands,
brown peat of higher ground, bright peat
thinly stripped from the earth,
perfect lines reasserting themselves,
were their own art gallery.
Old school house on the left was the aristocrat,
it lorded over the landscape
that rolled down to Clew Bay.
One Nephin shelters the other,
shy and retiring Clare Island
barely making an appearance,
Croagh Patrick is its own church steeple,
Sunday morning, I felt blessed.
Imagining Achill
I imagine you casting out
from the harbour at Keel
or perhaps in a boat offshore
reeling them in.
Later, sea-hungry,
you light a fire on the beach
barbecue your catch
chase it with long cool draught.
Imagine music playing as you sit
peaceful waves and lullaby moon
imagine dancing around June’s fire
summer passion tattooed on your skin
as the knowledge of Finn blistered on his.
Imagine it survived the same time span
I look out the window and exalt the moon
envious of the stars over the strand at Keel.
