Letter

I send this writing to say
that a bitter, piercing wind
blows ceaselessly in from Siberia,
and that the waves of the North Sea
batter the quay incessantly.
My kitchen is once more in disarray,
the house is cold,
and my bed is far too wide for one person.

On frosty nights I look up
at the same stars
that shine above you
in a far country.

Litir

Seolaim an scríobh seo chugat chun a rá
go bhfuil gaoth rua fheanntach
ag síorshéideadh ón tSibéir,
is rabhartaí na Mara Thuaidh
ag batráil na gcéanna gan staonadh.
Tá mo chistin bunoscionn arís
is fuacht fán teach
is tá mo leaba rófhairsing fá dhó dom.

Breathnaím, oícheanta seaca,
na réalta céanna
a shoilsíonn os do chionn
i dtír eile, i bhfad uaim.

Go Cathair na Traoi agus Dánta Eile (Clódhanna Teoranta 1980); An Droichead, Earrach/Spring 1986.