I want to live
Where the sea is the end of the world
And the curach sways
Sweet as the nightingale
In the melody of the galan
To her sweet high-pitched thorn
I surrender
To the curach’s guttural waves and chatter
Bleeding ink across the bay
Through the eyes of Inishturk
Cast your nets
To the Trinity’s lone hand
That waits
In the driftwood
In the smoke on the hills, moves a hush
Till evening comes in
In its enormity
Let the end of the world
Wash over me
In your golden lugent hair
Sweet Niamh
Where the black curach sways as
Sweet as the nightingale
In the stillness of
A dodecahedron
Isn’t that how the world
Took your mind
In Reading Gaol
In the night of the curach
I am perched upon
Such worlds
