Burren
The hard skin, we walked,
to the clouds,
and from the clouds to the sea,
and out to the lighthouse.
A country with no boundaries
between land and water,
nor land and sky,
nor past, nor future.
God lives in a cave,
God lives on the mountain,
God and the devil
living among others of their own kind.
We walked the pavements,
among living shadows;
they held out their hands;
their hands sang.
We saw, in water-filled hollows,
ourselves: air, rock and light,
transient and eternal;
cloudscapes, not people.
