(For John B Keane at 70)
Back the strand I have walked
between the remnants of bagged up pups
Bright blossoms of anemone
and washed back sheep's gut
A leveret has sprung
from where my foot would tread
Hesitant past a saint tombed isle
Archipelago of the dead
Distant bells have voiced their call
consecrating the wind torn hills
Over cloud chased Coomanaspig
curlews answered shrill
This path rising to a jagged grin
where moon and earth meet sun and sky
In the long grass there to listen
amongst shell and sea song I will lie
