The Watchman after Eilean Ni Chuilleanain
When all this is over, said the watchman
I shall sleep late, in a feather bed
hear the milk churns rattle on the cart.
I shall sit on the porch in a rocking chair
knock my pipe out on the geraniums
flip my breakfast crusts to the dog
I shall lift my face to the sun, drift
above our honeycombed town, hear
a dog bark, the whoosh and clunk of the water mill.
I want to feel the day turn like a wheel
without needing to wind the winch
see sunset burnish the Buttercross
then while the moon keeps watch
over the town, climb the stairs
together, turn out the light.