Will the wind whip inland from Donegal Bay?
The river Garavogue give up its shell middens?
Will the glass house open a prospect to the sea,
and beyond, the oratory on Inishmurray? Will the miles
across water be passable, or worse for the weather?
Will the boat have a name? Will we find its captain
companionable? Once beyond the estuary, will seals
greet us from their colony? The lighthouse salute
with a turn of its optic? Will the wide sky find itself
in the water’s glass? If we find our way to the oratory,
will the door admit us, or will it be too small?
Will light stream in? will rain beat on us and our
ambitions? Or will its centuries of prayer
be etched invisible into the stone? What eider
and petrel will flank our return, what gaoth
lift their wings’ dark gleam?
So! Jealous!