Declan Doyle Poems

A trembling assembly of half-fetched thoughts,
Rock and roll over my ageing brain.
They know the route, they gnarled and fought,
With logic, that Imprimatur, that Bain.
...

I hear the whispering of water when I hold her,
Like the lapping of infant waves at a calmed lake's edge.
The warmth of her, the shape of her, the rhythm of her breathing,
Just us, then, under the great star resplendent sky at night.
...