“….each person stares out of a story full of suspense
and surrounded by mystery.”
On the plane, I watch others’ movies
so the sound doesn’t interfere
with the story.
Dublin, down the street from Trinity College,
fashionable young girls and leaves
readying for fall.
Leaves fall, flash
of what’s next.
Gulls wing above the street,
call into morning darkness
as loud as young men
crowding the corner
The winds on the Galway coast
can make your steps so light
you might well tip.
Ocean often makes its strongest case
in the dark hours, shares long-held dreams
at the furthest reach of its spray.
You have to be there.
Where my feet demur, I listen.
Just below whisper, deeper currents
encourage, but do not instruct.
First light comes a shadow-glow, low in the east,
stars gone, ocean air dry, warm, lingering,
lingering as if needful of nothing
The older woman
with eyes alive, smiles quick, leans with her step,
takes notes and listens before she speaks—there’s more,
but I’d rather hear her say it, set conclusions aside,
just ride the light she rides.
Found a flower in the flora magazine I’ve carried along
that I’d found in the mountains earlier in the season.
My photo is better, but not nearly as good as
the memory of the find.
Killarney to Kilkenny
From the southern coastal mountains, inland,
pastured hillsides reappear through the mists.
County Kerry into County Cork, thinly veiled
remembrance of resistance clears the surface
of the guide’s voice.
Kilkenny to Dublin, further north, leaves turned
even more. Morning clouds appear
at the mouths of cows.
Stars this morning
between the crowns of surrounding trees,
constellations signaling in English.
The streets of Belfast taste of the work of living.
Not one we’ve met is not friendly, everyone inquiries
with a smile, and on the sidewalk side of the bedroom
window, children’s voices make it morning.
Once born here, family history, as if chosen,
becomes the ballast of life trajectory.
Even the peace wall has two sides.
Things are better, but gates open in daylight
still are closed at night.
The last night, watching through the window
a street lamp throw glitter to ripples
on the River Liffey, thinking
who needs the moon?
the lightest possible touch.
We leave Dublin
over wide stretches
of sectioned greens,
through scattered puffs of cloud
casting good-by shadows below.