I let the dead
borrow my eyes
so that they can see
the fingers of fog
fondle each tombstone
& cross
as a blind woman
fingers her rosary.
I see them look
for a land that is gone
farm & field
washed away
eaten by
the hungry sea
over the years they have
slept
so that houses
that were homes
no longer
even exist
&
where they played
as boys & girls
is now
nothing but
empty air
the living now
more ghosts than they.
They hand me back
my eyes
eyes
full of tears
that can not
cry.
A new moon
shines down upon
a badger
making its way
across a backyard
a dustbin lid
still wobbling to a stop
as a bedroom
window
curses &
lights up.
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-eyes-are-thirsty-for-onelia/
