Benbulbin
Sep 18, 2022
this wind pellucid and fierce
stitching chaos in my mind
atop the green mountain roiling mist
above the churchyard ruin and lore
here I sway longingly my hair a blinding veil
reciting all I remember of Yeats
he speaks to me he pleads with me
Never understand the weeping of the world
but it’s too late for that
for me
that horizon is dust
this wind is now
entering my porous frame
hollowing me thin as a page
I drift to the edge
where I do not wish to be
“Benbulbin” is published in Gifts to the Attentive © 2022 by Marie Marchand and appears courtesy of Winter Goose Publishing. Available on Amazon.
