FROM THE BOOKSHELF
OF SUFFERING

Famine road,

               County Clare,

      leading no where,

                    carrying no one,

  puddles, like pools of

         blood gone black, lie

                                            all about,

well-bound by stonewalls,

                  each stone a bowl of
   
             soup, a meal, a warm belly,

another day on this earth, and
       
       the silent shuffling

                    of feet still drowns out

    the crashing surf below.


The day after Thanksgiving,
November 2001