MEDITATION IN THE RAIN
In the premature falling Night Head bowed bent Forward against the absence Of an Indian Summer Rain like Rice Crispies Snap-crackle-popping On the flapping plastic Of my hood Wind whipped ears My eyes in custody See only the ground On which I walk Isolated The world empty now Except for the odd stray Runner squawking seagull Scared crow Swan heads buried In the river Hidden But not hiding I think of all the false Belongings I have tasted The true belonging Of Love That draws me in To the Claddagh church Before Mass Enfolded in the radiance Of Your Face Lifted up to intimate communion