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over there, catholic hymnals and cobwebs

Over there, over the quiet sierra
where yellow creeks braid through dark and wooded tangles.
Boughs of trees curl over the sky like eyelashes.
Over there, where children play tit-for-tat,
clap, raise hymnals like a Catholic organ,
where old men sow the red, dusty earth,
prepare the cedar for burial. Wives
stow daylight in glass jars.
Over there, Eternity’s white coat
pops like lightning, her barrel gun
squarely at my forehead. The flam
of drums and drone of bagpipes,
we know.
Over there, never too far off,
past clouds ironed onto the sun,
the ocean swells. White combers
swallow the earth in the last.
The birds tweet in the last.
Beetles dive beneath the clove.
And we all return home.
Over there, on thin pieces
of land tied like kites, slow
whimpers blow until the final
collapse. Children catch
raindrops on silver cobwebs
until red and dissolved.
It’s somewhere, close
and fair—Catholic
hymnals, silver cobwebs, red—
Somewhere, over there.

inspired by Virgil's 'And in These Fields'

27 Apr 07

Rated 10 (10) by 2 users.
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 — Rixes

Don't touch a fucking thing.
I mean it.
 — unknown

I agree. It's perfect. The only thing I'm sorry about is that I can't rate it for some reason.

 — azure

erm, if this is NOT about Ireland, its good. If it is about Ireland, you must do as all us Irish poets do and kill Joyce from your perception and make this unfold for me. good job.
 — Trish77

This is about Ireland?

This is news to me.
 — Rixes