The River Lee near dark

October 17, 2005

           What people seeking solace do—they wait
until the light goes low. It’s then they’ve seen
a shadow here and there. They’ve often looked
           to touch once more a face beside the gate.

           Engaged in talk, or walking toward the pier,
they learn one word might lead them well
beyond the ways—it’s nearing late—familiar:
           out past the oaks, the trails, the salmon weir

           where waters thrum—now flash a silverwhite.
I’d follow you, he says, and next, Which way?
He stills to narrows kept for years in check.
           What people, lost, endure to see things right.

Print Friendly and PDF

Email this page