Smithereens Press Chapbooks The Sea Path by Ciarán O'Rourke | Page 32

I imagine echoings
to be enough
to raise
your sightless eyes
and famine face,
and faith
in breath, a force
to conjure
youth again:
that place
of which, you say,
the music speaks
in mutter-tongues
and Morse. Love-poet,
eternal pastoralist,
in the din of one more
ending world,
I commemorate your corpse.

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