i tripped today,

somewhere

between the road and paddy's grave,

alone in the thickets and dusky heather,

and in the silken

morning fog.

the blackbird listened as i sat

and cried.

she was kindly, wrinkled,

whispering

naughty child, alanna

as she wiped the berry stains from my fingers,

the bloodstains

from my knees.