GALWAY SKETCH TWO [from the vault]

GALWAY SKETCH TWO

Gailimh;

with your slowwaking

raindark roads,

iron skirts pulled down

tight against the night.

you are not halfhospitable,

loosenighted, slowwaking

Gailimh,

eelroaded, eelrivered,

rainhearted Gailimh,

you are no stranger’s place.

NAR CIS US [from the vault]

NAR CIS US

every thing is
a mirror (if
you polish enough)

even your hands
cupp'd and fill'd
with water held

still will show
your only love.
your only face.

THE MOONLIGHT OR HER SKIN [from the vault]

THE MOONLIGHT OR HER SKIN

'nunc tibi me posito visam velamine narres,

sit poteris narrare, licet!' nec plura minata

dat sparso capiti vivacis cornua cervi,

dat spatium collo summasque cacuminat aures

cum pedibusque manus, cum longis bracchia mutat

cruribus et velat maculoso vellere corpus

every night before that day,

for months, he had no sleep,

but his breath caught in his throat,

the baying of the night hounds

echoing in his ears, as he dreamt,

staggering through black woods,

the Huntress looking down

at him from the milky moon,

her blue eyes the clear pools

among the pine forests of his

sleepless dreaming—and after

those restless nights, when that

day finally came, his friends flushing

out hart and doe behind him,

with that dread pool ahead, water

gone still in the silence of his sight,

he knew he would never turn his gaze away—

EVERYDAY MUST BE THE END OF THE WORLD pts 1-9 [from the vault]

EVERYDAY MUST BE THE END OF THE WORLD pts 1-9 [from the vault]

I'VE SEEN THE END OF THE WORLD [from the vault]

I'VE SEEN THE END OF THE WORLD

your smile was devoid of edges,

all uniforms and marching orders

a tongue leading down into the

pit of your faith, to which doubt

has taught me how to crawl, where

i hold my breath, push away the

ghosts of your eyes and fall into—

god made a nothing / out of nothing.

MISTER DUCK (R&R) [from the vauit]

MISTER DUCK (R&R) [04/04/10]

you and me against the world / world about to end

by the neck, under netting,

you become our blustery best

abroad—an antic-frantic

anger, a guileless smile, the

scene-stealing wise-crack

ing, voice-cracking—never

as worldly as the wabbit,

but every bit as dangerous.

even when it's your blood,

red and Pollocked around

those whisperthin hostel walls,

a half a hostile world away,

before you settle your bill

back into place and slip back

into our dreams again.