Days
Gulls battling for gobbets in the sky, Watching a white boat romanced by winds.
A day we ended in a pub in Templeogue, Happy to be in from the frost,
staring at fish in their glass prisons,
You talking of faith and the fragility of the heart.
An October day in London,
Meeting for lunch outside a railway station; Then walking to see Mantegna's, 'Agony',
Its starkness casting a shadow on our laughter.
Today in the hospital,
Daffodil and freesia scenting the air around you, Orchids overspilling their jars,
You vomit water and wait for Sister Death.
Back in your rented flat,
Lithographs depict the silent spaces your heart delighted in, Therese Martin glances from her laundrywork
A pornographic poster on a door is more poignant now than all Mantegna's Christs.
Your face is before me, struggling to cover pain, Thanking me profusely for whiskey you will never drink; We slip into prayer,
Your room, for all its flowers, bitter as Andrea's Garden.
