Old birthday balloons – 

Playing on a vent, months since ~ 

Slowly marking time. 


Somewhat distracted –
Take the blue line, not orange ~
They keep calling me. 

Working on the roof –
Above the noise, amid green ~
Dragonfly, also. 

Ambitious spider –

Hoping for a lifetime catch ~

Cobwebbed door handle. 

Hunting mosquitoes –
Now trapped in the tent ~ how sweet –
My blood no longer.

Opening a door –
Nothing waiting to bite you ~
Nothing to harm you. 


Old birch, taken down –
It is still weeping, months since ~
Little pool of life.

To the Motherland for a while –
It is clear that I must visit the Sea –

Pick up the familiar clasts and cast them into the surf –

The headlands that I can trace in my sleep, as familiar as the back of my hands (changing with age, wind and sun) –

The sound of the waves, hypnotic and addictive, never easy to leave –

Easier knowing they will always be there, indeed there will always be an Ireland, long after we are all gone.


Another morning – 

Minded of one just as bright ~ 



Dressing before bed –
This is not the time to waste ~
A statement T-shirt. 



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