At The Cliffs Of Moher

The carrion crow, perched

on the stone wall,

strutted, muttered,

called my name.

Look me in the eye, it said

and tell me you are not

afraid.

I stood.

Beyond the wall, two hundred

metres below, the sea crashed,

flung its heart against

the limestone rock.

Clouds gathered,

storm grey and lightning lit.

The wind held its breath

while the crow held me.

What do you see? it said.

And what I saw was

the bone and blood of everything

crowded on the brink.

So, said the crow, are you

afraid now?