hillwalking together,
toward the edge
of the howth-
head horizon,
looking at the sea
which lies,
flat and peaceful,
like a blue
uncrumpled scarf
hung by summer-
time door.
​
the air up here
is a pale blue filter
of the sort which colours
everything, and the suburb,
down below us,
scatters like spilled
table salt.
​
we sit on the heather
just off the track
and drink bottles of wine
and lie down -
our reward for and after-
noon's hiking.
we are out of the view
of the footpath
and there are no trees,
no shadows to stretch
and mark time.
​
when we finish
and get up unsteadily
the sky has come open
to a wide space
of shadow -
I feel
if we stand
we'll fall in.