Rain And What's Sacred Poem by Michael Ó Domhnaill

Callous rags cloak mislaid silk
in unattended green leaf dusk.
Jupiter creates miniature Jovine
under an aquamarine awning.

I cling to insidious red neon
as heel caresses head.
Sisters of twinkling munition
on the precarious circular curb
salve my singing vertebral head.

The avenue is an opal
Crying to dusky morning…

As the luminous egg
rose then set,
I dose and wake;
flex with regret.

You see I parted with the woman I love
hours ago.
The rain soaked me, soothed me.
Not remembering whether I was on the East Side or West Side
I trudged on in a trembling dream
letting my stupor lead.

Sparing words
I talked in faces to transitory companions.
I am in constant torpor
trying to suppress a sneer.

The street hadn't a sign of life.
I clung to a fence and wept.
I forget my home.
I misplaced my location.

All these lost keys
and mocking, devouring latches
have taunted me these six years.

I've lost more keys than there are locks.
So many chambers padlocked
The chambers clear their throats…
These are the chambers the gulls fly to
to weep concealed tears:
Chambers which are closed to me.

Thee conceal everything sacred,
since they are closed,
The sacred is nonexistent.

The pavement and bricks
warp and blur in this downpour.
Balmy air caresses me.

My eyes are flawed
inkspots which spread over the horizon.
The indigo stains the twin towers deep blue.
The red lights blink on and off
at the base of my skull.

A helicopter thunders
richocheting around my eye sockets.
The surveillors onboard meet their end
against my cheekbones.
My will, and its intention
cannot be gleaned.

In the rain
my core of love melts.
I'm sobering up on the fire escape.
The corroded metal beams support me.
They are so many ribs,
A spiralling black metal spine.
I cling to it
and speak to the city lights
only in whisper.

I've forsaken myself
forsaken the sacred
forsaken her sacred grey eyes

Desolate, alone,
I nod off in the torrent.
Sometimes it takes the rain
to find your innocence.