I found a quake in my heart at The Rock of Cashel,
How I loved to look on as cars became ants
on a far very far away hill so bright green
I was in disbelief. My father
came and stood behind where I sat in the churchyard grass
and said it had been an hour, we had to go
I was sure it was four minutes just where I sat.
Next time is more of a feeling than a memory
cause it’s deep green palm trees under a gray sky,
such a contrast the earth becomes mosaic.
As always with humidity, you’re hugged like an oven,
air filling even ears like a mold,
taking the edge off a wind sound.
Heat makes the cheeks flush but the sky – layered
grayscale – shades and protects. I shiver anyway.
After an uncharacteristically hot morning,
the rain makes smokey fog rise from the trees
like they hold a secret fire
which reflects in my eyes like it would in
a New York skyscraper that’s more glass than steel.
Of course, these are times that I learned home can be something new. It has to be once.