Ryan Robson-Bluer

slieve

It\'s that breathless, bruiseless sky,

pinned up like a fine starched sheet,

that descends, as if untied -

now enfettered by each peak; 

 

It\'s that sliver of a lough 

soaked in fingers sleek of sun,

spattered light like bleach-stained rock,

dragged along and quenched and spun

 

And that dizzy, drastic height,

tearing through the purpling sky,

like a mirror slices light,

like a finger through an eye.

 

The awareness comes like fog,

thick and heavy, over all:

that we\'re suddenly far too small.