She carried Ireland in her skin,
a vast mist of mystery,
hiding away answers
to something profound,
and true.

When she spoke, the tides eased from boom to calm.

When her anger boiled
Thunder clapped the roof.

Someone lived inside her but she never said who.

She always questioned everything,
worked her spells on mountain trails when silence opened up and twilight speaks of only golden things.

I saw her once in a dream.

She whispered Ireland to me.

When I awoke
I reeked of

ocean

mist

and

burning trees.

I saw her smile,

suddenly understanding
the secret to emerald
so rich in the mist
capturing new born grass.