"Then you love water you mean?
The more fool you" I say,
(He's much too tall to hear) .
I was born near Lake Trasimene.
Nearly every evening that expanse
Of land-turned-liquid
Turns to grey to green,
Flamingo to bloody carmine.
There's no sense
In frightening one like that!
In all those colors, reeds like dead mens' fingers
Break the silences and mirrors.
I tell you there's no laughing on those banks,
On any beach or shore or not for long.
You get to think, Say prayers even.
Ugh! It cares a lot for you! No thanks!
But here's a prince, a cardinal, fly as they come,
By tricks and cheats puts water in his purse.
Makes something you can drown in, something cruel,
Dance in front of him like a hired fool.
Then you forget you have no legs. That's art.
Made him, they say, forget he had no heart.
And yet his house is damp ... And yet it's grand! ...
If
I could walk I'd go
As
far from water as there is and, oh!
If
I could fly, as far away from land!
P.
J.
Kavanagh
