“I do not think of you lying in the wet clay / Of a Monaghan graveyard; I see / You walking down a lane among the poplars / On your way to the station,” from Patrick Kavanagh’s ‘In Memory of My Mother’

for Bernie

lying in the end        of you          are all mad     and       we cattle—among the cattle—among the can walking along you are   all    made and we cattle—among the poplars on a lane along you say don’t forget the bargains are all made and we cattle among the rich with life—and you meet me and you lying down a fair     day          by accident after the wet clay for it is a       harvest evening down a summer sunday—you       smile        up the bargains are piling along           the end of you lying in the wet clay for           it is a headland we   are all mad    and you walk    among the ricks against         the end of you smile up the end of repose