Mayo

Mayo, may I place you in context

A bare brown tooth in a vacant grin

Shaped by the savage sea.

Your cliffs carved from the limestone

For the enchantment of Lir.

Air trapped in watery caves

By blustering waves,

Whoofs through bronchial blowholes;

Wafting their grassy verges

Like old men’s moustaches.

Rivers rush the browned rainwater seaward

Searching for the way,

While hills shyly shoulder each other

As if to let a priest pass

At a crowded mass.

Mayo played a sea mist on my face;

An Irish benediction.

My bare feet were washed in rocky pools

And dried by yellowed grass

In the manner of The Magdalene.