His headstone verses were writ in wine
To draw the eyes unto the fact of death.
Lichen lines love-and-only-love remembers.
All, all, we knew were eyes of deepest blue
This good man’s eyes writ in blood
Mortal love will always end like this. Time
Weathers the stonemason’s art to a flat palimpsest
Of hieroglyphics which resemble…
Lithe legs spread
neck stretched
feet splayed
in a swan-song.
Toes strong
fingers pulsing
then snap
a pirouette
we’ll never forget.
A spectacular series
of whirls, up on her toes
he circles her
on the ball of his foot:
musical, muscular movements mingle, mix
a shiver of white as she jumps
a catching of the breath…
Poetry
— circles of uninscribed sound —
The tone of the big bell settles in the dust
of this small market town in county meath
and on the stained glass window still
the sun-marked resonance of bell
circles of uninscribed sound
uncaged
through all the cerebral centuries
chimes and chants for Christ the King
chimes of crucifix, pyx, and plate
these bells have blessed the insouciant…
My friend,
strode up those stairs, so long ago,
& still, his voice pumps out
in all its brittle beauty
on YouTube.
Finally, leaving the depression
& the epilepsy behind,
leaving us you left us with the music & the dance
telling us all what love will do
& how, precisely, it will tear…
