For Henry

Dinner In Galway

We first laid eyes on you over drinks

and a late dinner in the Latin Quarter,

a short stroll from the Spanish Arch, 

its historical significance gone

in a heartbeat along with expectation

of ambush by austere beauty

on those wind swept stepping stones

Inishmore, Inishmaan and Inisheer.

The River Corrib rushes

beneath Wolfe Tone Bridge,

grainy and black as your liquid

image on the screen,

countless heartbeats of moonlight

mingling quayside with the sea

in a salty embrace that stings

my eyes and seizes my throat.

The windows of St. Martin’s

frame the timeless river.

Chamois cloth of morning

lifts the stubborn tarnish of dawn

from its braided embellishments.  

We tuck into our full Irish and drink

the watery coffee while you float

outside of time in your brackish sea.