Cavetalk Poem by Michael A O'Donovan

1
Sitting beneath the glide of a fulmar
tremendous rain threatens, but
the dark well of the cave obviates my fears.
2
The cave (the angry lust of the ocean)
hosts legends on the foreshore, while
the omnivorous ocean masticates.
3
Fulmars return from fishing canyons in the west
to squat in tunnels in the overburden.
I have come here however to consume the petrel's racket.
4
We are met here on an easterly winded day and
burrowed in the land we seek for shelter.
I will look for the mark of a Norse mariner on the stone.
5
But here the cave wall runs with water,
and the gusty wind blows back rivulets at the precipice.
In the cataract precipitates are slowly forming.
6
A great flux is working the old stone
as I step through the transient's shadow, searching
for secrets in the underworld.
7
Outside the foul-mouth squawks are silenced
by the voice of Thunder. Beneath my hands,
the murmur of old runes.
8
Our pelagic journeys are interrupted here,
beneath the ice we make our home.
Our folded wings await the lure.
9
I have not come here to die yet
only to stand in shadow and see the
(bright white)
illuminated fulmars astonish my sight.