Again then
My stem
Stated not to name
Tension climbs the spine
Pulls right across the shoulder
Brought on by
Being of the bold
In the untold middle of nowhere
The water
Runs slowly into
The drain below
Below the wisteria
Below the bamboo cane
The clay and slate rotate
In some forbade rectangle
Emigrate
It’s not too late
For you and Mr. Bojangles
A corner light, a mistook sight
Mistletoes of Spanish rain
Temeraire from County Clare
The swollen peace there to sustain
The clock ticks
The room is cold
Olden days
Are over
Silence is the pastime
Write once more the last rhyme
Onward goes the beach wise drover
With the loss of heather and clover
Carriages and crucibles
Rubies and cubicles
Statuettes of liberation
The siren and the seagull
Drift through shores of evil
From wave to wave
They crave
Until the neaps
Are fair full
Carved wood
Fallen leaf
Compost
By the thrush
It is no shame
Again then
Not to name
For me
My stem
It said so
