Saint Paul, 10 March 2004
Lone sentries those
Crenellations of Dun Aengus
Cocked hoof-beats
Of the adrenal medulla
The conjured gales
Just beyond the bay of Galway
Cleave limestone rocks
Of nameless grief left for dead
While angled rocks
Peer into History’s vault and
Dance drystone jigs
Like prehistoric barbed wire
Cold slabs strain the
Inaudible chaos of waves
The static hum
That is the sound of distant stars
I feel the drums
Crouched behind the leeward face
Of conviction
And the rock forts of Dun Aengus