To Columbus

Down Wexford Green we’ll drive,
Someday
I’ll turn a measure slow
And say
That window,
See? The second story?
I counted out those hours of glory
In sways, a pendulum’s measure of
Each breath
Each sigh
Each burp
Each hug
A triumph, then!
A trophy now of memory
So fleeting, how –
It can’t be bought
Or kept, or kept
The pillow-soft rug
That sped me swift
Your cries, so priceless,
Now, no less –
But just a spell, here
In this house.
You’d wrap your fingers round my hair
You pulled sometimes
I didn’t care
Those nights,
You grew up in my arms
How can it be already gone?

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Gate Keeper

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Once, I cleared the gate in a bound
A second time, pushed through
Next time, though
-I contemplated-
Defeating gates is overrated
I felt a song wave through my hair
Looked about, sniffed the air
Seeing there was work to do
I stayed
And stayed
And stayed.
Spring was fresh, and summer gone
Fall too short
I carried on
Rounding a corner once again
That old wood gate was beckoning,
But now I saw its hinges gone
From rust
From snow
From days so long
So clasping hands with you, my dear
I stepped on through a path made clear

Sent from my iPhone