Tracks

Three hours past
Grey streams, metal and misty 
flowed to fill the vein-Liffey.
At the bridge :"I thought I
recognized the face-Farranfore , is it ?"
Put me smiling on the steam-dulled
carriage.
Now, the life-giver
labours, and finds its winter height
Yellow on greens are 
shine-splashed
on blue
the plastic wrapping disintegrates 
in Thurles
to the cheers of boarding boys.
And life goes back to warm life.

In the mountains now, found
the distinctive jigsaw pieces
which, Reeking of childhood,
of melting butter, Kerr's Pinks and
cabbage
after sawdust in the shed,
make me whole

Killarney's rotting leaves
renew the ground
Pine perfume
finds my memory
and with warm wafts
of wheat and yeast
weaves me home.