Baile an Easa
She likes to go walking late at night
And the hooded figure that I pass
On the road might well be hers.
The laughing murder of crows amass
And almost break the branches
With dead weight. Burning sky blackens
Into monochrome. The middle ground
Becomes a series of gray shades.
Gorse burns. The moon drips, a rheumy
Eye through sackcloth, gibbous, changing
Like the pupil of a cat. It darkens
Off wet roofs where the glint of bulbs
Are moons in windows. The sodium light
Yellows everything, the tree, the house
The pillar of the road. Crossed by beams
Of a car, animal eyes redden in the night.
The moon has become a bulls eye,
Reddening in Taurus, unsilencing this place,
Loosing the hush and rush that named it
Once. The back of my neck quickens
Nerves goosepimple, hair stands. I feel
Shadows cross where there is no light.
If you've any comments on
this poem, Nigel McLoughlin would be
pleased to hear from you.