Sunday, 29 September 2013

1 New Poem


A bit apple and two flashes of lightning
were all we wanted out of each other,

just as well you seemed as the last
rose in barren landscape, drinking the desert water,

came across the high cliffs and pin-wheel spiral
of dry-crackle fire-spark oak leaves,

the honeysuckle you roamed between, open umbrellas
in milk-supple tone.

Reading Pablo Neruda on the early bus from Galway to
Cork, seat lights in their cheap half-blue fluorescence,
the road signs in Gael flowing; canal water I
wished to drown in, the pools I cast fishing wire
between, cast cupped hands for livelihood. You
looked as two nuclear shadows, cast in lead,
cast in the fort's wall feeling that comes when

loving is so short, forgetting so long.

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