Down in the valley

There is a valley between the Ballina and Sligo where birds and humans are fading with delight

There is a valley where mist is composed of the last breaths of those who dear to enter it gates

Christ himself walks along it sharp ridges to stroke with a wounded hand heathers fur and rocks of the glen

Those who have fallen into it trap acquired a knowledge of the dimension of time

A lot like in Newgrange when the light meets the nail hole only for a few gasps

Then — and then only seven steps is enough valley will release every wondering soul as sundew stray young

But tomorrow — again between the Ballina and Sligo people and gulls from the shore will glow in the eyes of unknown as self-confident

refugees from the beyond

From: For life and death of a poet