When I passed the coffee shop you took me to
a blessed year ago—that day when my body was failing
in the chambers of the chief judge,
but how it ran there in Saint Stephen's Green, with you
& the blue-eyed sky-singing hymns,
when the old sun had never looked so,
nor I so looked on it.
Before & after knew it's but a construct of the mind,
like this & like that day & then & now.