Anam Cara

THE WOUND AT THE SIDE OF THE HOUSE

For Pat O’ Brien

The glistening, neon dome

Turned the night bathroom,

With its window open,

Into an addictive sanctuary

Which had drawn in

The masses of the night.

Thousands of demented ephemerae,

Needle specks of shivering flies,

Moths and myriad winged things

Congregate around its merciless,

Unrelenting light.

Having waited all day for the daylight

And its vestal colours to leave,

They arose from the bog,

Navigating rushes, grasses and briars.

Rising into the wonder

Of this night, with its moon

Casting mint light from behind

The mountains of Conamara.

On the adventure

Of their few hours of life here,

They had the misfortune

To pass by on this side of the house

And become at once entranced

By this strange window of light,

A white wound in the night,

Its drawbridge down,

And flew in to the blind worship

Of its deadly brightness.