The Well

I dreamt I saw you – out the road-

On a Saturday evening-

On my way back from confession-

With sins unspoken-

 

You stood- looking towards the small field-

Where the pool of water had lain -masquerading as The Well-

Bulrush surrounding-providing shelter for frogspawn-

Or a basket of stolen eggs-

Would you cup your hands to drink as mine once had?-

 

My feet gain speed in the swift and gathering light of evening-

Drawing near-heard you utter –

In the name of The North- The South- The East – The West-

The Well-appearing brighter hearing your voice-

 

I wish I could have placed a wreath upon your head –

With Broom and with Mountain Reed-

With Dog Rose and with Elder-

And in your hand- Déora Dé.

 

In memory of Seamus Heaney

A Bellaghy man.