To Seamus Heaney, transcendent, award-winning, beloved poet who died this week. Excerpt from "Sunlight":
Now she dusts the board
with a goose's wing
now sits, broad-lapped,
with whitened nails
and measling shins:
here is a space
again, the scone rising
to the tick of two clocks.
And here is love
like a tinsmith's scoop
sunk past its gleam
in the meal-bin.
Just because they only come every four years...
12 years ago
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