Baile An Easa*
The laughing murder of crows amass
And almost break the branches
With dead weight. Burning sky blackens
Into monochrome. The middle ground
Becomes a series of grey shades.
Gorse burns. The moon drips, a rheumy
Eye through sackcloth, gibbous, changing
Like the pupil of a cat. It darkens
Off wet roofs where the glint of bulbs
Are moons in windows. The sodium light
Yellows everything, the tree, the house
The pillar of the road. Crossed by beams
Of a car, animal eyes redden in the night.
The moon has become a bull’s eye,
Reddening in Taurus, unsilencing this place,
Loosing the hush and rush that named it
Once. The back of my neck quickens
Nerves goosepimple, hair stands. I feel
Shadows cross where there is no light.
*Baile an Easa - Irish. - The place of the rapids or waterfall.
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