The river flowing higher than the road
beside the way to the square bellowing through the hedgerows a cow the deep gurgle and babble of water
through the drains In one and out another an auld fella stick in hand marches in protest
in flowing water along roads through car parks cars in rivers slipping on mucky footpaths like at home on the ice using a stream crossing the road to wash my shoes a woman apologies for the mess bubble up waters flow from the manhole
through the railway crossing as I head down to read a sign the ferry’s running and a wasp annoying me the storm is over there is no smell wading through small rocks porous stones and debris
some raised to the grass banks above waves crashing on the breaks to children's cheers here with such high tide the water heavy with sylt slow and brutal on its march against the shore It would bury you with its flow no walk on this beach I'll go the road the trees combed north east by years of wind I can still hear the thunderous rhythm of the sea solar panels taking the day off another diesel train spins by as I make it down the village road where I shall stay.
This poem was published in Golden Hour - Hora Dorada
you can buy it by send a message with your address to
colm@ciarnain.com it costs 12€ + postage
here at Litteraturcentrum Kvu
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