Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into an artifice of eternity.

Wednesday, March 30, 2016


~For JH~

Two await the tide’s return –
a sparrowhawk perched on a pylon
trains the drones of his eyes into combat,
and a boy on a dune between dunes
imagines heroics amid the strangled reeds –
a man sidestepping blades in a field of blades,
or Oisín steering his stallion across the sea. 

Soon it will come though the bird has flown
and the boy is startled by a piercing cry
clawing up the calm around him –
death comes quick as a driven nail,
silence itself is punctured and whatever
escapes the prey’s pierced lung gathers
into a gale that storms along the shore. 

Iodine-bruised clouds overshadow the scene –
A fog rises and the sea hemorrhages, the moon
is a stricken heart that pumps bloody tides
into days and years – they come fast at last
foaming fiercely, panting to open and patch
up wounds, but soon all is washed new again
and two await the tide’s return –

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