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My "place of clear water,"
Late August, given heavy rain and sun
for T. P. Flanagan
All year the flax-dam festered in the heart
Between my finger and my thumb
There, in the corner, staring at his drink.
It is December in Wicklow:
My father worked with a horse-plough,
The tightness and the nilness round that space
The piper coming from far away is you
Fishermen at Ballyshannon
The timeless waves, bright, sifting, broken glass,
I sat all morning in the college sick bay
As a child, they could not keep me from wells
And some time make the time to drive out west
The pockets of our greatcoats full of barley...
So winter closed its fist
A rowan like a lipsticked girl.
Here is the girl's head like an exhumed gourd.
'We were killing pigs when the
I was six when I first saw kittens drown.
As if he had been poured
As you plaited the harvest bow
When you plunged
Perch on their water perch hung in the clear Bann River
Her scarf a la Bardot,