Is féidir linn a theipeann
iarracht
Is féidir linn a theipeann
chomh fada agus a fhios againn seo
íomhánna ar ár selves
Tá anaithnid
is é seo an íomhá
Titeann sí i cupán caife agus drowns
ní bheidh sé a shábháil.
Déanfaimid theipeann
Ag pointe amháin
Maireann aon nóiméad
Anois.
Gach go bhfanann
áirithe
An bhfuil
anála
Tagann agus téann
An taoide a réamh-mheastachán
As ár teipeanna féideartha
I roinnt chuimhneacháin
Níl aon cheann de seo, nithe
B’fhéidir gurb é sin go léir is gá dúinn
sometimes when I close my eyes
i can listen to the chatter of the spiders
as they weave their webs before dawn
to be like a tree.
is impossible
but as a human
i can reflect on my interpretation of what sensing a tree might appear as
this may not be apparent to anyone other than myself
perhaps i do not need to share this detail
the experience of standing in the rain under a tree
I am breathing in
I am breathing out.
once upon a time;
only time for those moments did not exist,
and the clocks had all stopped
and the compass was stuck
and we were here
the walls ran with water
we are here
the morning lays in wait
the lark promises.
what enchants and and what excites?
the images are falling.
our hands met in mud.
a chello on a hill
the performance of taking an ice cold bath
counting the ravens
a marching band follows you.
to texture and scent.
far from the widening field
in a narrow town street
that is where we began
you with a broken branch
time space energy direction
to give each other attention
to listen to each sound
the film breathes in and out
the film coils and turns in on itself
it begins to die
the maker watches
the pen out of ink
the images will all fade
making the transition into the light and into the dark
accepting that both states can be present
and absent
and when i dance
i am almost human again
all the emotion comes flooding back
and back and back
and moss listens
a wild rush
a stream
a waterfall
and I stand still.
still.
But then I realise even my blood is dancing.
there can be no stillness.
perhaps this is all we need.
the ferns sing a lament
to the fading sky and the rains march in
the scene is flooded and the moss
catches the tears.
Explorations of Gleann Eatharla ( November 2014) with special thanks to Jynx for such hospitality and kindness.
Urban re:passages 