Ormond 1d
In the lowland fens at the worlds end,
Like the ferryman, a blue heron waits,
Eyes of dragon fly, hover, over still water,
His legs are the oars rowing to the dead.
Ormond 5d
By the sea, I saunter and think of her,
The tides slip into wild coves—
Like my own desires under moon.

I search the skies, emptiest horizons,
As the gawking gulls circle in windy
Tempests of confusions.

Shy stars appear as the sun is destroyed
And the sea sprays like a bursting fire—
Plastering rocky crags.

The long night that always, was coming,
Has theived its way from white hope,
A shroud for a sea journey.

A lone osprey shuttles a fish to its nest,
His heart— soaring on high—
While mine submerges at edge of sea.
Ormond Dec 2
I wanted to know the sighs
Of mercy.  On the bed she lied,
Laid bare in the shocking light
That twitches, as she rolls
I hover and cage her in question,
With moist eyes, abandoned
By loves interrogations,
I stab at the untruths and confusions.
I wanted to hear the supplicant
Murmur of indolence and shame.
With windy caresses I break
Her arms, she ropes me red
In tangled hair and I struggle
To let go.  I wanted to taste
The twin defeats of victory
And indifference, when in the light
Of darkest night there are cries of yes
And no and false accusations,
There is consuming pain and excruciating
Pleasure and as we squirm
And seethe, she teases,
Goading me and then,
I loose it.
Ormond Nov 24

At the end of night she bathes in light,
We tussle in the warmth of morning,
The blankets and she are of sea foam
And found shells, whispering lost ocean
Words.  Our bed is a raft, drifting aloft,
The coffee is brewing with mellow sun,
Her smiles, filling my silly, giddy mug.
Soon, we walk to the pebbled beach,
Her hair is waving at the friendly seas,
Gulls are circling in the moving skies
Reeling with the slow, slipping tides
And I skip stones with her as our feet
Sink in the milk of morning sands—
Must we be off to Dublin town?
Ormond Nov 18
Threadbare young lovers
Lost blooms felled in November
White petals in snow
Ormond Nov 13
Treasure in forest,
Water dropping crystal beads—
Dew on wild orchids
Ormond Nov 10
Third had grace, loveliest, angels face,
Second had music and long, lithest form,
The first was a lark, one amorous affair,
All three are now but phantasm, dream,
The forests dark, memory— lost to me.
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