Down in the valley

There is a valley
between the Ballina and Sligo
where birds and humans
are fading with delight

There is a valley
where mist
is composed of the last breaths
of those who dear
to enter its gates

Christ himself
walks along its sharp ridges
to stroke with a wounded hand
heathers fur
and rocks of the glen

Those who have fallen
into its trap
acquired a knowledge
of the dimension of time

A lot like in Newgrange
when the light
meets the nail hole
only for a few gasps

Then - and then only
seven steps is enough
valley will release
every wondering soul
as sundew stray young

But tomorrow - again
between the Ballina and Sligo
people and gulls from the shore
will glow in the eyes of unknown
as self-confident

refugees from the beyond