Videopoems

Audiopoem

STILL LIFE WITH IRISH DIRT


I want to sound you on this piano, but I brush you into still  
life instead. Face you out the window. Rain shakes  
loose like a good cry. Some light passes through.  
 
Others call it wide-eyed, but who could not recall your colors?  
You blend into the heather, bleed into the hawthorn.   
Fluent as this night rain, lapping at my borders.
    
Composition: not a sail, but the wind. No guillemot,   
but its wings. Years, you’ve been at my bedside,   
yet I still can’t see where you end.   

Nights, you ghost the Connacht Coast, tending to what needs.  
I find you in a thicket of gorse, inhaling the sweetness of earth.   
You look up to see your face walking towards you.