Wraith-like, twisting
My dream sweeps out
With menaced urgency

Lighting on some
Ancestral shrine
Where my soul longs to be

The grasses, bending,
Supplicant
Whisper how I should stay

The grave welcomes
A mendicant
Who cannot find his way

But I will be there
Soon enough
The tomb – what’s left of me

For now, I am one
With the clouds
Beside
The Irish
Sea