How Words Play, New Poetry, Small Books

Glendalough, at Iseult Gonne’s grave

subside the rocks
archback
silica of bird leans into

a granite stylus
a grave bed
green sea-bed of flowering heads.

shatter of tree hacked-through,
windmills beside an sruthán geal
gold coins in-stream-glitter out to me.

a small a cloud there
her gulfstream ruffles my feathering (toll the …)

blood-thickener sloughs blood against
let her eat the disease

                     a gelid-thaw
clysters the blooms
 

all that glisters is not white / and
not laden with small griefs

Glendalough is © C. Murray