Dementia Landscape

a fire roars 
in foreign white ink a familiar name, no not familiar
a bone-inlaid key paws open the heavy vault door
one green eye one red eye laid over the mountain ascent
three deer-blood lips three fir tongues, teeth
        cast like needles over the valley 
                the temple
                the far-off 
                        glacial scar  
like oxen yolked
their gray pupils pull 
through fragile forests of madness, intensity
at least i think so and that counts for something
no one's mad at me
i'm famous and very rich
and remain lazy with no guilt
upon closer inspection: a mystic
hand-in-paw with a brown dog
9 clay pots, they're dancing
near prayer, spontaneous music of the weald.

‘Halo’ by Ailbhe Darcy

It was late last night the dog was speaking of me,
and the gulls speaking of me, out over the field.
You were drawing water from the tap in the kitchen
and a moth was speaking of me, beating for light.

I was raising delft from the sink to the aumbry,
while they spoke of you in loops, over the waves.
I reached for a switch; sunlight coalesced
about your reflection, helmet of bright coils.

Outdoors was a blankness peopled with black angles;
waiting for the water you caught your own glance.
My eyebrows bustled, you submersed in my dressed;
then you were speaking of me, just a word, in response.

All the dogs in America have sisters of their own,
all the birds have sisters, out on the highway.
Moths have moths for sisters, beating out for light,
and I am speaking of you here, to everyone I meet.

Source: Darcy, Ailbhe. Imaginary Menagerie. Tarset, Northumberland: Bloodaxe Books, 2011, p. 31.