Criss Cross
Moments arise
Thoughts and life
Perfectly align
Synchronized
Harmony
One true life
Felt effortlessly
So seldom seen
To scarcely believe
Life more ordinary
Thoughts roam free
Running wild
To Dissipate
Claustrophobic
Fragments form
Ghosts of War
Nosebleed

Meeting below Shannon bridge
under April skies
From where
we could just about see
your Da's office in the
National Bank
They say he did the State
some service there
but as far as you were concerned
you didn't care

Sur' why else would you be here,
mitching school
with nothing to give
or leave in this world
but
Twenty John Player Blue,
this boy from the council estate
and a mark to be made
from a golden can
of aerosol spray

We laid it there beneath that bridge
with those of others
that had gone before
Above "Iron Maedin" spelt with the
e where the i should be
and the i where the e
And to the left of that
"Brits Out"
and
"Up the Ra"

I wanted to place a ****
before the Up
but sharp as a tack
you realised
that we had left our names
and it wouldn't take a genius
with or without
an i or an e
to figure it out
so I just
let it be

We joked that you
had the looks and the brains
and if only I had the brawn
we'd have been sure
to make lots of money
and opportunities
Instead we sat back
smoked
and enjoyed our craft
How I marvelled
over the beauty of your name
next to mine
added to a date
that now goes
unrecalled

But recall I do,
how when the April breeze
would blow
even just a little
that that bridge would whistle
and how it would seem
to carry
a song of hope and expectation
over the river
through the underpass
and straight onto
a promise
from my lips to
yours

Looking to the past
it seems as perfect now
as it was perfect then
and yet it passed
without that kiss
that had been dreamed for so long
now held up
in the breeze
of crippling fear and the ease
of not knowing
and
could have beens

I consoled myself
with the notion of stages
and building blocks
for closer binds
but blocks
they build walls
that blind
as they get too big to climb
and moments do pass
as dreams do die
under whistling bridges
and
April skies

I still have occasion
to walk that bridge
and still it whistles
fainter now than it used to do
a more distant song
carries a nostalgic air
for I don't dare
to go under
nor wonder
of the existence
of a golden mark
of an April day

For the ease of not knowing
our names go unseen
two more
long since lost
could have beens