III
there is a horse there on the hill a Connemara
She had tumbled down the stone walls in flight in frenzy the men caught her
amongst the strife the orange flame
the yellow strife the white
white grey and cream: her mane and tail is against the wall
the bone-beach is sometimes called Trá na Bpaistí, a monument there
a famine grave is nearby
the maerl holds the names of the nameless dead the places of their graves
and even here here still- Your twin reeds tremble a song
9