Kissing Time

Marked in the twilight
of a golden grimace green;
tumbling weed beauties admiring
Dublin back street.

Flirtatious rhythms weary-
blighted remains cast sleeping;
sorrows colossal, bounding showers
down sea’s neck to Bray.

Stepping cordial along ragged road,
early drowning crimson
curtains closed----
single spies wanting a taste of the rain,
clandestine fancies more primitive
than blame.

Soaring cathedrals over tides mistletoe
yield to strangers welcomed in to tea;
judgment ponders over window shades,
mosaic indefinite burying seed.

Sounding children’s cries,
rounded pious sighs,
the quieter language of river lies;
equations run right past in 32 high tides.

Each failing inch, left cloudy to insane sleep
pulsed to the brim…memory’s artificial life
worth calm the setting stars, ensnared their seething tune,
full faced dawns peeking-
raindrops of Irish night.

(Happy Bloomsday {“A way a lone a last a loved a long the riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs”.} Finnegans Wake)


~M. Lucia