Baile an Easa

She likes to go walking late at night
And the hooded figure that I pass
On the road might well be hers.

The laughing murder of crows amass
And almost break the branches
With dead weight. Burning sky blackens

Into monochrome. The middle ground
Becomes a series of gray shades.
Gorse burns. The moon drips, a rheumy

Eye through sackcloth, gibbous, changing
Like the pupil of a cat. It darkens
Off wet roofs where the glint of bulbs

Are moons in windows. The sodium light
Yellows everything, the tree, the house
The pillar of the road. Crossed by beams

Of a car, animal eyes redden in the night.
The moon has become a bull’s eye,
Reddening in Taurus, unsilencing this place,

Loosing the hush and rush that named it
Once. The back of my neck quickens
Nerves goosepimple, hair stands. I feel

Shadows cross where there is no light.

Nigel McLoughlin

If you've any comments on this poem, Nigel McLoughlin would be pleased to hear from you.