Summer Holidays In Grannies

Summer Holidays In Grannies I remember the hives of summer down in grannies place and June's illusions bouncing on the lane Unformed people floating on hot black air There at the bottom of the Tournant Road by the gap overlooking the glen I would press myself against the dry stone wall to look at a thousand beautiful things, or rock like a pendulum by gripping barbed wire Its wooden posts, ghosts, after forty winters a bright sun to burn forehead and forearms. Later, those arms will stick to the oilcloth of her table but then I'll be listening to conversations Words to the rhythm of a dying wall clock as moths tap unheeded on her kitchen window