(Skocjan, Slovenia)

I have a constant sense that many more
are present here than meet the eye. And when
I turn as if addressed, from near or far,
by name or with the same effect, these beings,
elusive as water to the fist, have left
only a shade of scent or the unfinished
flourishes of signatures in clefts
under the shifting canyons of the sky.

At three in the morning I got up to greet
the water sprites of the river known as River,
wreaker of time's slow damages beneath
the surface of the Karst. I listened to
a palaver of steady demolition
and was smitten by love of the fairies,
losing the good sleep of my golden years
to be reborn in poems and puberty.

I peer into the sinkhole by the village,
see that its sides are covered in
wild flowers and foliage of sapling shoots.
The altar in the church of St. Canzian
trembles above the abyss on a bridge of rock.
A perpetual procession of clouds and ghosts
moves on the rush of the late August wind.
I keep my counsel, eat my breakfast toast.

Ciaran O’Driscoll lives in Limerick. His most recent publications include Life Monitor (poems) and A Year’s Midnight (a novel). He is a member of Aosdána