Poem

The Sky in Ireland
(climbing Croagh Patrick)

By the statue of St. Patrick
the old man sleeps, head back, mouth
open, swallowing the sky. Soundless.
Ewes graze or sleep in the open fields
in the beginnings of Croagh Patrick.
A crow rests in the last tree
to the summit. Soundless. You recognize
the shape of sanity against the pale
backdrop of your friend the sky:
the fullness of joy and agony
waiting for roadkill.

Do not open any letter
that will break your heart. Offer your blue
friend salt with her Blue Curaçao
margarita. A beautiful woman once said,
‘A drunk is a better lover than the poet’ –
it is why the sky drinks
and I exist.

Rivers and oceans always reflect the sky
but the sky reveals all color
in rainbows and the spiritual remains
of water in clouds. Expect nothing
from clouds, though, or crows
except to pick the remains of your existence
and your soul.