Walking to Glendalough

I

Distant tower          sandwich of hills

laced in placid      unseen clouds

find a settling             bog pink and pine

like a smudge     lake calmly bleak

wayward striping light     beams that shadow

an illicit thought          final place to rest.

II

I surrender      to uneven meadows

wet patches of miles        forgetting to limp

plodding to reach       a measured gate

time aging pilgrim       I am carried

on limbs outstretched      a tilting sound

all shallow breathe     the color of sky.

III

Blue silence      cathedral of pilgrims

grave tilted stone          fallen to ancient

 the hordes come    poke the fading

path of the faithful      once monastic valley

gone to ruin      in sacred remoteness

midst bleached pines      a dusky solitude.

About these ads