The Erne Rushes Through Me
A great clean flood to rinse away
the whole of the tired, wicked world.
A heron guards the dreaming ivory gates,
my eyes have turned the blue of damselfly;
red gilled perch and silver trout,
swim through the ventricles of my heart
and swallows rise from my throat, stitching
my thoughts to the sky: it is as if nothing
bad is happening anywhere: as if
everything in the Garden is lovely.