Your daughter dreams you are buried on a beach
which the IRA later affirm is true.
A beach is named and the whole beach excavated
but they don’t find you.
Your daughter dreams,
your daughter with the dark rims under her eyes dreams
you are buried on a beach.
She sees the lights on the opposite bay,
she hears the wind skirl in the dunes.
It is cold where you are, and your daughter
with the dark rims under her eyes dreams
her body frigid; in the chambers of her ears like tinnitus
the tide reiterates its tune.
Salt silts on her tongue,
she wakes to the cry of the curlew,
thick water smacking on rocks.
Your daughter dreams, your daughter dreams.
Your daughter dreams the soundless blue.