The Stone House: Dromod Harbour

Gerard Fanning

Boat piers are much alike.
Stepping ashore at The Stone House,
Doused in the inky stream of Acres Lake

We walk a tarmacadam line
Where curvature comes together
As strands of carmine

Climb through migrant sprays
Of laburnum and maple.
In a wait that slowly accumulates

Until too long, hours refract,
And like a tiptoeing through a glass lean-to
We examine the stills of this romance –

The trays of alpines dusted over,
The hunter’s shot leaving no report,
The tennis court going under –

Trying to fathom that flinty allure
As somehow the wail
Of the long-haul Dublin train

Recalls a man who was falling,
Crying out somewhere
For his coffee-stained hill,

Folding his wings as if all he desired
Was a polished strip
Amongst petrified pines,

Where the stain of silence
Would be heaven sent,
And boat piers would greet the innocent.