Howl

 

It’s all right.

That open window to your precedents,

once it tumbles down

after shaking the earth’s disease,

I’ll parry for you

the brisk blow of emotions

in the lateness of the world.

 

I hurry home as though

you are there blinking with your fist.

The night sabotaged by your fears,

your fantasy castle

built upon my brain,

your kindness

the self-portrait of silk.

 

Even what was beyond

Kinsale was recast

in your dream’s silhouette;

you gave the town

colourful wings winnowing

over hills and harbours,

its vibrant history a mouth

and a howl,

its ancient spirit your new mead

so you can float across

the tops of pubs contemplating

the signs of true love.