Greystones Harbor
Old stories roll on salted air
ravens translate clattered words
which skip and cross white-tipped waves.
Greystones harbor tips its icy brow.
White houses on distant shores
squat upon ghosts of Viking hofs.
The ancestors seethe like steam
mist carries echoing voices.
Only listen.
Dolphins herd fish along the whale-road
a seal pokes her head, sparkling
she shimmers and shouts to gulls.
Screech and churn, burn the wind
winding tales up trails on grassy knolls
trolls lurk in craggy caverns
rumbling curses at ravens who hop
and pick at the edges of refuse
thought and memory pulsing through blood
thick as the heavy air,
live as the Irish sea.
Memory.
Dragon ships launch in a fury
of oars, woolen sails square
against the thundering air
snap as they pass
on the scent of tide.
copyright, Karen Emanuelson