Walking from Christchurch toward St. Stephen’s Green,
we sight the sea-glass dome of Dublin Castle.
In cobblestone courtyard, music ignites.
Gospel singers harmonize from the rampart
as iridescent balloons skid, careen.
Crossing the drawbridge, haloed creatures high
on stilts, shoulder three-jointed wings. The choir
chants “Lean on Me” while a boy climbs the fortress,
emancipates his string. The sky-shot bubble
explodes. Inside, a single flame of wings.
When the Dart coasts into the station,
the sun illuminates the clouds.
Children balance along the wall
skirting the Clothes Repository.
From the East Promenade, a boat
ferries passengers to the Eye
of Ireland, the island where monks
once labored over every letter,
coaxing the Garland of Howth into bloom.
Eugenie, Jersey Cow, died 1967,
aged 17 years, produced 17
calves and 100,000 gallons
of milk, exhales inside the heavy grave
she shares with Princess, Aberdeen
Angus Cow, Dublin Champion,
whose grace is cramped. She lows for air.
Tommy, Shetland Pony, hooves Molly,
his wife, beneath the sod, while seven
generations of Chows now share
a bed. Beyond the clutch of rhododendrons,
one field over, a gelding strikes a pose.