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 Apr 2014
Seán Mac Falls
— for Síneánn*

We drove to a lost, lonely isle,
If only once to find ourselves
Again belonging to the strands
That tided us in beads and wave,
The sea new, aloft and birds moved
As we flew, sailing under cascades,
What breathtaking strides to make
And the sun was dripping and swept
Away to us on the gentle crests breaking
We spoke soft nothings, as to know things
So simple to be kept wanting nor ever said,
The lonely star of day was sleepy, dimmed
By sparks, the shimmer to our eyes, so clear,
Shall be the hills of the isle to us, will always
Remain cast with new lamb and crowned deer,
By thorn and thistle and rimmed with broken shells
Strung on a beach so singular, before innocence
And grace, by two ****** lovers aloft in only sky
To be joined, with hands of the long night stars,
Finally reached, by the glass in the running grains
Untouched, ingrained, stained into ocean salt
Always by the seas of joy and given to each
Ever to be moved on the high tune eternal,
In stations of grass and stray wood drifted
Among wings by the slip of tides monumental,
Till when we drove away, this time, in a carriage
Old of unrestful sleep, crossed, beyond—
A bridge of sighs.
The Bridge of Sighs (Italian: Ponte dei Sospiri) is a bridge located in Venice, northern Italy. The enclosed bridge is made of white limestone and has windows with stone bars.

The view from the Bridge of Sighs was the last view of Venice that convicts saw before their imprisonment. The bridge name, given by Lord Byron in the 19th century, comes from the suggestion that prisoners would sigh at their final view of beautiful Venice through the window before being taken down to their cells.
 Apr 2014
Seán Mac Falls
We lie a bed,
Sheltered in cloud,
Your words, soft, cut
Like fawning feathers
Serrated in a bone vise,
Our mattress was a grave,
Six feet, founded asunder,
Your pulling hair ropes me in
Two, the fabric of fleet, tightening
Fingers, laid without guile nor shame,
Without a drop of torn, tearing tenderness,
I am hollow in bleak breaking, spiking silences,
You remain cautionary, vacant in the blanketed hush
Tried, as we were doomed, in the noonday rush of sun
That slept in crawling frosts of creeping shade.
 Apr 2014
Seán Mac Falls
Poet to my eyes, you are the sight of whitecaps
On the sea water, or the sudden turn of a bird
In flight and as the wave I roll and break,
With drowning wings that lift toward you, my sky.

Mistress to my soul, I am the nave of your holy
Cathedral.  My head is but an occluded riff,
De-noting songs you make in aisling airs of light
Polyphony, my star over-sings the windy globe,

She swallows heaven, like swallows blacken the dusk.
Shearwater bird, strip my surface with your cutting
Wings.  My waves peak to reach you starling girl.

The sloughing chill of winter dies quick in sighs
Waft asunder my little Indian summer, wake me
From sleep and I shall dream but once for your kiss.
 Apr 2014
Seán Mac Falls
My memories burn  .  .  .
Red rose lighted by the moon,
  .  .  .  Cold funeral pyre.
 Apr 2014
Seán Mac Falls
The browned leaves fall swaying,

And meek sun, is lonely peeking,

Black birds drift with indifference,

Morning, a shroud of fallen cloud.
 Apr 2014
Seán Mac Falls
Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower,
And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed,
She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes,
Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell,
As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair
And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears,
Softly he drove his hunting command, homing
To his huntress.

Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance.
Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then
Once more and then again.  She bucked fiercely
And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more
Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white
Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark
Dominion of her quarters.

In the middle of this carnal match they paused.
And looking into the forest beyond they saw
A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still,
Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved
By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent
Leaves.  It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle
Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on
The human hunters did not speak.

Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep.
Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew.
He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing
Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle
As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood.

In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke
And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring
Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves
With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath,
Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings
Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning.

Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid,
And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made;
She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed
Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable,
In Artemis’s wood.
 Apr 2014
Seán Mac Falls
We fall, following doors, a jarr of sun,

The pale flowering of romantic youth,

As we are painted by pictures we run,

And all new meadows a vale of bloom.
 Apr 2014
Seán Mac Falls
Water nymph, you are the gentle wind
Bursting the daisy, your eyes, are bells
Of blue echinacea spiriting the light—
Echoing sound which water makes, ring
The laureled forest leaves in cathedrals
Newly sprung of pews, meadows, spark,
The dance of bees, who trace your honey
Scent in combs of ambrosia and sunshine.
The miraculous waters are floored under
Your white, lily petals of feet, your nests
Of hair are embracing tendrils of the wild
Grape, wine and sweet, long forgetfulness.
Maid of the wood, daughter to the moon;
Are you of Elysium or temptress of doom?
 Apr 2014
Seán Mac Falls
There is no threshold  .  .  .
Lines between earth and heaven,
When is shrub a tree?
 Apr 2014
Seán Mac Falls
Haze of cloud, light rain dropping cauls—
And nowhere is betraying sun to be seen,
Drowned streets, are pathways of shawl,
Low scapes of shun— wind caries a keen.
 Apr 2014
Seán Mac Falls
.
When love grows out of time
And huddles in a grey season
Of distemper, beware chilling
Same, the deep low downing
Doldrums, the browning burn
Of the left alone flower, deftly
Dying laughter, stale motions,
The hollow rings entrapments
When love grows out of time.
 Apr 2014
Seán Mac Falls
Where have all the days gone by?
What once was new, now is made;
Night is falling, close my eyes,

Now, the moments softly cry,
The light has clouds racing away,
Where have all the days gone by?

Fresh and verdant the gentle tighs,
Summers sweetness up in blaze,
Night is falling, close my eyes.

What once was truth now is lie,
After rains shear loss of May,
Where have all the days gone by?

I hear the hush, leaves that die,
I fear what the swan has to say,
Night is falling, close my eyes.

Awakened to such sad surprise,
Spring was such a fleeting haze,
Where have all the days gone by;
Night is calling, close my eyes.
 Apr 2014
Seán Mac Falls
When once I saw creation in your eyes,
My heart a seed, a finger rapt fist of bud,
A box of chaos, daring to be opened,
By a gentle house of reckless child, my heart
In the bracken field of surrender, saw deaths night,
The fertile light of stars in your face, cradled
In your fleshy shower of holy stone, your flame,
Your fire, nestled in your hair, undone.
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