LIKE AN OWL

The streamlined feathers of the owl
ensure the silence of its approach,
a silent glide between
one unknown and another
and the woodland mice and insects
are filled with terror
before this beak, this claw of the night.

Like an owl you come to me
spectrally
nightly
tearing at me –
I waken, abruptly
and there is nothing
nothing at all staring at me
only the confused memory
of a kiss
gliding into obscurity
on the wind.

Mar Ulchabhán

Mar Ulchabhán

De dheasca na gcleití snáithíneacha aige
ní chloistear an ceann cait ar a thriall
ní fios cad as dá sheol
ní heol cá bhfuil a chuairt
is líontar le huamhan iad
feithidí is lucha na coillearnaí
roimh ghob, roimh chrobh seo na hoíche

Mar ulchabhán do thriall chugam
go taibhseach
gach oíche
ag piocadh asam –
dúisím de phreib
is ní bhíonn aon ní ann
aon ní in aon chor ag stánadh orm
ach iarracht de chuimhne éiginnte
ar bhlas póige
a éagann ar eite
ar an ngaoth