TILICHO LAKE
In this high place
it is as simple as this,
leave everything you know behind.
Step toward the cold surface,
say the old prayer of rough love
and open both arms.
Those who come with empty hands
will stare into the lake astonished,
there, in the cold light
refelcting pure snow
the true shape of your own face.
THE SEA
The pull is so strong, we will not believe
the drawing tide is meant for us,
I mean the gift, the sea,
the place where all the rivers meet.
Easy to forget,
how the great receiving depth
untamed by what we need
needs only what will flow its way.
Easy to feel so far away
and the body so old
it might not even stand the touch.
But what would that be like
feeling the tide rise
out of the numbness inside
toward the place to which we go
washing over our worries of money,
the illusion of being ahead,
the grief of being behind,
our limbs young
rising from such a depth?
RETURN
The day started with a flurry of gulls
and a single cry, as if I had spoken
and out of the deep cave where my tongue lies
birds were scattering in an open sky.
I went to the rail and watched them rise
over the grey clouds as if the sky were a sea
and the sea was cold now, full of shapes
and the horse-tails of winter.
And I spoke, involuntary
out of a delighted mouth
the old, strange word
Ireland;
joy when uttered, grief when heard.
