April in Rusheenduff
       

These nights in April
stars gleam over the ocean.

Morning after rain, yellow gorse
thickens, smothers in the ditch
wild cherry, hawthorn and frogspawn.

Yet in the undergrowth,
among snarls of weeds
and rough stones,
garlands of mountain creeper
weave their black roots.

The senses are not visionary
and we ask neither more nor less
of this earth in whose measure
we are fixed.

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Copyright © 2017 Joan McBreen All rights reserved
from Map and Atlas
Salmon Poetry
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission