Open, Later, Though the
Edge is Dried and Frayed
From the lonely
cliff-tops, the stag
bells and makes the
whole glen shake
and re-echo. I am ravished.
Unearthly sweetness
shakes my breast.
Seamus Heaney
Sweeny in Flight
I
want this for you, when you can, in a year
or
two, after the buried
dead
are finished
rising
to stand by your bed, collecting
like
ushers near the end of the service
like
they did that day
two
thousand
stood
in pockets and rows
and
you, between the two Legionairs, collapse in their arms…
I
want another usher, a hand to plunge you into the abandon
of
her sweet skin
her
urgent cheek
covering
your dark conservation
things
people will never know
or
want to guess
or
think you deserve:
there
is solace in lips
a
nose on the bone between the breasts
the
shadow on the counterpane
a
moan
a
moan
a
man even after all that!
Abandon.
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