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Libby Hart – Ⅳ

North Wind 




It shook me about at Mullaghmore.

The Atlantic reminding my southern body

of all the unruly things that exist here.


And my love for its uncontrollable self

grew into veneration at Ballyconnell

as we watched each wave strike black rock.


The moment being great commotion

even while the sun shone like biblical etching.

We sat without words

as your car rocked a mad lullaby.


Later you’d build a turf fire

and the scent of it beckoned earth

so completely inside the room

that all my thoughts flew to Bricklieve.


And in my mind’s eye

I travelled with velocity and turbulence.

I travelled with the north wind

because it’s where I gather strength.


It’s where I exist in full fathom,

even when I’m shaken and shaking.