Time is shadowless here
Blackberries she dreamed of
Staining her fingertips
At the top of the field
Where she lies scattered
In the last weeks of summer
Mornings recurring as enhancements of absence.
He will not abandon her now
The man she was half of
In a Gulf-damp wind
Blood and salt on the back of his hand
Reaching.
—with a line by Eavan Boland
