Assisi: An Online Journal of Arts & Letters Volume 4, Issues 1 & 2 | Page 70

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TIM MCLAFFERTY

DÚN na nGALL
So long our fields lay fallow,
alone to watch the wobbling
of the heavens—knowing no
footstep snapping dew, no hearth
fire lit in our quartzite ruin.
As mourning doves sense black earth
shrouded beneath the road-bed—
asphalt, curb, and tar are mine,
the thick d on the dull tongue,
the crush of many bodies,
engines, and stink of exhaust.

!!Assisi!!!64!