Glendalough, at Iseult Gonne’s Grave

subside the rocks
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—
not laden with small griefs—

Glendalough is © C. Murray

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