My Love in Lispole

Swirling updraft spin---
Tender, graceful the wing---
His white cotton cap;
black shining eye
tilting
to the cliffsfall sheer.

Suspended before me…
Speaking
above the tumultuous tumbling,
The foaming surf
defines phrases
emerald into deeping blue.

In the rocks roosting
Twin pairs
pecking to the lover’s peck
holding fast to the tuft.

Round and round
solitaries spin.

Oh! To be such an artist of flight!
Should surpass every gift,
Should drop speech or pen,
Should waken
from my gazing perch.

My love wanders on a grassy knoll
Her raven hair painted on the wind.
I am called to regather
And not slow, not swift, the footsfall
To the steady path.

Approaching speech stalls.
Vision and flight lock in memory.

We resume the winding road
To me her loving eyes are as light as smoke rising on the hills above Lispole*.


*Lispole is a seaside town near Dingle, in Southwest Ireland.