THE HERON

The heron, stock-still,
is her own bird image
in the water.

The surface doubles her patience,
a gift, presented to us
for nothing.

Startled by an abrupt sound
her neck erupts upright,
totally alert.

She swoops back into her upright self again,
brimming with her own depth,
staring.

She stands perfectly fixed.  
If she stirred she’d slip
outside her form.

They’re all the one. She peers through
her own bird’s eye view, clear
to the bedrock.

Tide in tide out
she scoops a beak full with a grin
of antique wisdom.

An Chorr Réisc

An Chorr Réisc

Sí an chorr réisc ina staic
a híomhá féin éin ina hiomláine
san uisce.

Bronnann sí a foighne gan faic
a dhúblaíonn an plána ar ais
in aisce.

Geit obann torann
preabann scrogall gan gogal
san airdeall.

Tumann inti féin arís go hionraic
líonann dá doimhneacht
ag stánadh.

Fanann ina haonchruth comhlán
dá gcorródh sheasódh lasmuigh
dá scáil.

Ionann iad. Féachann tríthi féin.
Is léir dá súile éin gach corraíl
go grinneall.

Taoide isteach taoide amach,
giobann goblach le straois ghoib
gaois’ ársa.