Directions To Paradise
By Hay Machine (e)
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An early recollection of a visit to the west of
Ireland
the train rattling on about an hour beyond Athlone
a single tree with its brooms bent eastwards
followed by another and another
the stone wall bracelets starting to appear
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Driving through Galway
out into the dreamy kingdom of Connemara
the plaited strands of civilisation
unraveling the mountains after Oughterard
swelling up over their ink blue lakes the creamy sky
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A left turn after Maam Cross instead of heading
straight into
Clifden weaving out towards Roundstone
winding through the vegetation
nearing by the minute the place where children sparkle
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The arrival of the weary travellers
along the narrow road by the low sea wall
the fishing pier a stony knuckle
framing the wild sea like a mirror
to multiply this magnificent world
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Roundstone that needs no grooming
carelessly built with windows blocking out the sun
but these shady places can be as soft as paradise
soothing with cold drinks the sunburned heart
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Out the other end of the climbing street
the purple mountains are lost in the rear view mirror
a mile out along the seaside road twisting to Clifden
a silver elbow ribbed with dunes
a crab claw made of sand
to one side the great Atlantic ocean
to the other its own coral sea
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It is hard to forget the city its hammering tongs
and chains
but the heart eventually gets there
catching up on the other senses
the wash of the sea dampered by the sand
grasses and wild daisies singing between the stones
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芦
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