This is a poem I wrote atop Knocknarea, Queen Maine’s burial ground, in Ireland. I wrote it while sitting there for about 20 minutes.

DAY ON KNOCKNAREA (January 2000)

Oh Sacred Hill

Where silence holds the day

And green, green as far as eyes may try to see

Offer they might dare to look beyond your ancient clay

To all that is and all that ever soon will be

Sacred Hill, heaven opens an approving gaze upon your stairs

I cannot move; your back has stifled me

And breathe, breathe, breathe Do I through listless cares

To take a final part of you to sea

Stay now, sleep, for I must go

To trodden deep within the city streets

And dapple in the mundane, heavy blows

Which try to hinder dreaming, beckoned feats

But the aesthetic night will soon grow long

And I will tire of peoples’ fancy stares

Such is a hope that I do not belong

Among the city with their gameful glares

And day will come and quickly will I flee

The smokey night that held me in my youth

And old, far too old will I then be

When in return to you, oh Sacred Hill, oh quiet, mystic truth

Of all that is and has been put to rest

Of death, of life before your windy crest

Oh Sacred Hill this be my final quest

(And with that, until tomorrow, all my love!)