Knocknaree

A journey to Knocknaree tomb in sligo 2013

            Breathless the Journeyman pauses

            January cold rising damp from deep in the soil

            through his booted feet and up

            tired legs into shaking stomach and rasping lungs

 

            The world opens as a magic trick beneath him

            squares of bad land ringed with rock walls

            painted by an ethereal hand

            on his raw windshield eye

 

            A motionless city is struck dumb by the wind

            filling up the valley with the fungi of buildings

            while above the birds auger what they will

            without interpretation

 

            The brown mountain slumps

            thrust into the sea like a discarded midden

            raised by ancient giants with it bulbous crown

            atop a snow haired head and furrowed brow

 

            Hand over hand each stone of Kinghood

            weathering the storms of four millennia

            and the soles of countless souls

            beating on the drum of the earth a long rhyme

 

            Dead but sleep beneath the pile

            they have no ears for the rhythm

            yet shell-like they hear each and every whisper

            as a scream

 

            Closed mouth and chilled bone

            the Journeyman rings the crown

            a vigil paid with all Gods, One and None

            he lightly climbs down