The Sligo Poems

Dressed all in green, in this new-old grove

are the trees, draped

in vines and moss from head to toe,

at their feet brilliant weeds and strange drab mushrooms grow.

What a place!


Rolling and shuffling, moving even in sleep. Dreaming, perhaps, of running– fast and effortless, thrumming with energy. Dreaming, perhaps, of dancing– I imagine she could dance forever. Golden skin and golden hair streaming out behind her, spread across the wind, the sheets, the pillow, gleaming tawny-bright. A strange lioness lies near tonight and I lie still in […]