PADDY

Those sighs measured
his distance from the Shannon;
they were long sighs,
miles and years long,
and full of young departure
and strange exile.

He wore his careworn state
with a battered beanie;
walked with a meandering gait;
his cock-eyed grin
signed off with
arch browed wonder.

He groaned and sighed
his ancient prayers,
sometimes to a chainsaw
harsh crescendo:
soul vigorous
to splinter heaven's door.

Seeing now, not seeing then,
a man like him carved deep
by river memories and distance;
voice long gone,
his exile song runs true.
Now he is river. Now he is home.