Daniel P Stokes
Sunset
Driving to Achill, she dozed, cloth over face,
For the glaring evening sun made her eyes and head swim.
I stopped at a bogland a-flower with flax
And picked the tough white flowers, had her look up
As we passed through sunless valleys soaked with centuries of mist.
But the travelling had made her irritable and tired.
We drove the rest in silence, the sun flat crimson
Straight in front till it dipped behind the head at Dooagh.
I longed to trudge with someone to the cliff edge,
See the great sun drown, day die, and knew she wouldn’t come.
Page(s) 22
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