Beyond Liscannor
And is the light from Loop Head
still silvering the waves at Spanish point?
How long since we walked that strand?
Toes popping the air sacs of Frond
the sea breaking cold upon us,
wrack like fingers wrapping around our ankles,
and the silence –
the first grey light coming from the West.
You began a name of shell, pebble, driftwood
that came to nothing
while I judged the remoteness
of Slieve Elva, Slieve Callan,
and the volume of dark salt-water
between here and the other shore.
Page(s) 93
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