Blowin’ In: A Poem for the New Year

Notes from an Irish Field: Winter

On the eve
of a superstorm
wind howls
pushing clouds
east.
In recent years forecasters began
to name the storms:
Conall
Naoise
Darragh
As though one could predict the
mood of the earth, sky, and sea
based upon the nuance of name.
Whether the turn of weather
acts as prophet
foreseeing
feast or famine
joy or pain.
As you walk up the stony path below the house
clouds clear
unveiling
a Winter Night.
Stars align
illuminating
clear constellations:
Orion
Perseus
Andromeda.
String upon string
of lights
dangle
from the
Midnight Sky.
Infinite
Caught up in the vastness
of deep navy vertigo,
you stumble upon the stones.
Eyes level with the field
you are surprised to see
the same sky
spirit arrays
reflected in dark mounds.
Phantoms
rest in the midnight field
bearing
twin stars in the eyes
of guardian angels.
Lanterns
illuminating the
simple truth that leads you to
terra firma
away from the fear of obscure prophecy.
Steady on firm ground
the angels reveal themselves.
Unlikely prophets,
the sheep lay in the field,
eyes shining like
stars
guiding you
home.