for Louis Mulcahy
I realised I’d had a dual relationship
with an image of him
I had feared and doubted him.
I had loved and adored him.
I imagined how we’d meet.
I wouldn’t mind a glass or two
of red with him
now, or in the future sometime.
How different would he be
to his unaging persona?
How would he react to his impact
since he left the world?
Heaven has better things to do
than worry about a paranoid little planet.
Jesus would soon be fed up with us
this time round. Sláinte, a Jaysus!
And what would he think about?
How to ...
heal psychosis?
Fix the human condition?
Deep in the vibrant yellow of stagnation
my own cousin waits to help me
It’s Lugh, she says.
Lugh’s mighty, I reply,
he could jump right out of myth
and I’d be him
his offer of light an opiate
unseen
until
I realise I’ve been seduced by raw power.
Give me rather, Amergin
here, where I can shelter
his copper eyes
from the sharp future
and bathe his tongue
in honeyed flame.
Copyright © Paul Casey 2012
