For Paul and Dee

I sit in this quietest of kitchens
Looking for stimulus.
The clock ticks so casually,
Strikes the hour with hysteria.
I panic my way to more information;
Never finding enough.

Sore-throat rooks organise a protest
Outside the window.
I walk around inside my head
Opening doors,
Look for forgotten things.

Earth furniture, upside down in flat water,
Imitates infinity.
I must have thrown out far too much,
Not counting on this return.

On the sea inlet there are cut outs
Of Japanese mountains.
I try to master the cat jump
That is higher than houses.

The windowsill cat, naive painting,
Is waiting to kill something.
The blind eye is helpless;
Insidious contentment
Comes ivying through.


Honor O Brolchain
April ’92