a lot of roadkill lately.
one sign of summer's
approach. dead foxes --
dead birds especially.
and once, on the main road
driving toward blessington
alongside the lakes
there was an otter -- an almost
intact thing, a torso
as thick as cracked
open lead pipe,
lying down on the lines
which bisected the lanes,
and everyone swerving
about it. april is indeed
a morbid month, and it's dishonest --
sun striking the tarmac
like water and drawing things
in. daffodils rise, draping
forward fat flowers
with curl in the neck
of a landed and interested
vulture. folding its wings
at the verges of roadside. strutting,
examining the ground.
I thought I would pause
Mid-air, to perform a funeral-
Reflecting on Chris' artifact.
Forgot they cut it out, minute by
Minute, years later, the lake
Still stained glass, in my hand, pure
Mountain water, to leap
The dock at the dead centre
From memory, a taut body
-Styled suspension, burning
With bright interior, a skiff
When I extended my arms
Eccentric ripples- swimming
With family Sunday coming up
For air and thinking often
Of old photographs.
