Erin Mouré Poems

I m not pleading any thread of love
until I see you.

I m not plaiting my hair above
until the sea brings you.
...

I m going to walk to the mountain. As if
we could meet there!

First I must dream the mountain
...

Is bad weather coming
how would we know
Is bad weather coming
call everyone
...

In one of its cornices are the two boots of a man
In one of the stone canzorros
If you listen you can hear him walk
...

On the hill there is no hay
but rain

no hay for a hayrick but
small rivulets singing the grass down
...

I am in the little field of my mother
Her field touches
oaks of the valley
and I touch the faces of my corn
...

At night in the valley of penedos erguidos
a glint of wolfram

the uncles' job at night
to touch the glint of wolfram
...

In a woman's arms lies a man
his skin is blue and his lips are blue
and his chest is a hayrick
flat with forks of blue
...

A little river and a big river
the story of the bronchials
Some of earth's heartbeat but not all
...

Nowhere yet has a footfall proven
adequate to its situation
Waiting for the boots to call out
from their stall by the door
...