A wide shore,
the square. A child leans back
into the huge shell of a hand,
trusting to the granite fingers to break
his fall. He turns and grins
at his baby sister
as noon chimes
and the crowd strain to where
two figures merge: time eating time.
True, it’s been played before
but old and child alike
can’t help but look
until the dull
ache that draws sight down.
But someone is always lost, has stepped
into a moment of their own
and stands there, rapt,
as if land fell
away like time
an inch beyond their feet.
The grey hand opens like a blossom,
a tattered paper hat takes flight
tracing the ragged rhythm
of the instant,
the heat that traps
or buoys it on a whim of breath,
keeping it gently out of grasp,
a juggling of trance and breeze,
the moment studded with
infinities.
Ted Mc Carthy is a poet and translator living in Clones, Ireland. His work has appeared in magazines in Ireland, the UK, Germany, the USA, Canada and Australia. He has had two collections published, November Wedding and Beverly Downs. His work can be found on http://tedmccarthyspoetry.weebly.com.
Eunoia Review 