Passing Joyce Tower –
A quartile on the way home ~
Across Dublin’s range.
Transfer
0
Backpack left strap slips –
My shoulders’ width uneven ~
Broken collarbone.
Rain pounds my windows –
A comforting sound at night ~
Except for the leak.
Last front house sun days –
Manipulating the ants ~
Clear generations.
Picking blackberries –
Against the fading grey light ~
Can’t tell black from red.
Picking blackberries –
Eventually lose count ~
Ten thousand black globes.
