EYES
And later, when, unnoticed by the rest of us,
music slipped finally from your mind
and your fingers, so nimble once, so sure,
settled as if by gravity into their unfamiliar rest
only your eyes reacted, fastening on light
or moving side to side, the slightest flickering
as if skimming a score you already knew by heart.
CALDRAGH IN APRIL
(i.m. Seamus Heaney)
Leave the ferry to plough its strait
one car at a time; turn instead, a mile
along the shore, to a graveyard ringed with birdsong,
each call a different colour. This is the end,
the centre, a stillness crushed elsewhere in the searching;
a border, too, tilth held at arm’s length,
a strip for the old gods, a ribbon for the curlew.
Bionote
Ted McCarthy is a poet and translator living in Clones, Ireland. His work has appeared in magazines in Ireland, the UK, Germany, the USA, Canada and Australia. He has had two collections published, 'November Wedding', and 'Beverly Downs'. His work can be found on www.tedmccarthyspoetry.weebly.com
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