Vers, valóság, világ

The light that left you streaks the walls
of Georgian houses, pubs, cathedrals, 
coasters moored below Butt Bridge 
and old men at the water’s edge 
where Anna Livia, breathing free, 
weeps silently into the sea, 
her tiny sorrows mingling with 
the wandering waters of the earth.

And here I close; for look, across 
dark waves where bell-buoys dimly toss 
the Baily winks beyond Howth Head 
and sleep calls from the silent bed; 
while the moon drags her kindred stones 
among the rocks and the strict bones 
of the drowned, and I put out the light 
on shadows of the encroaching night.