Thursday, April 23, 2015

In Mayo

The sky:

            rags on bushes

            in a wintry gale.

The barbed-wire fence:

            a lunatic's music

            sprinting down the valley.

The mountains:

           tossed heads

           with their silvering sheen.

Telephone wire:

            daisy-chained voices

            humming out of tune.

The lake:

            a shirt that blew

            off a line.

Rowan tree:

            tongue on the mountain

            shaping high C.




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