Nocturne Poem by Kevin Lynch Eile

The cities'
last consonant
trembles
we lay as if flowers
were not born of clay
science slips our nape
our math is dumb before her
she ebbs the square of
our root
sadness's proposal lies
dumbfounded

finds us in
fireflies

and we are here in her womb
like Van Gogh's pink peach tree
more
or
less
unseen,
seeing

but how can I speak of such
I can say a night butterfly caressed my skin
I can say I am a filament for silence
I can say how flower petals fall within
steedless
I can say look! the light!
the light of the night!
and you might laugh at me
and she will find you
in curves
deep
or deeper

still

I am numberless
she bathes my before and after
leaves my unspoken and trembling
and I call to her and call
and she comes and comes
in all curves
I can't keep

'Nocturne' was first published in Crannog 38, a literary magazine in Ireland