ÌýÌýÌýÌý A morning soaked in peach and watered grey,
ÌýÌýÌýÌý sheer skin of frost still crusted on the fields.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý The brown weeds’ beads are brushed by tufted grass
ÌýÌýÌýÌý and smoke is bent from chimneys on the hill.
ÌýÌýÌý ÌýWild white swans sit on their own reflections,
ÌýÌýÌýÌý quicksilver mirror, perfect symmetry.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý Above on the embankment
ÌýÌýÌýÌý cars slide by.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý The Lagan, icy cold, is slit by boats,
ÌýÌýÌýÌý long razor thin, pulled to a saw-tooth beat
ÌýÌýÌýÌý from Stranmillis towards the Ormeau Bridge
ÌýÌýÌýÌý where Orangemen marked time and time marched on.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý Wild white swans sit on their own reflections,
ÌýÌýÌýÌý quicksilver mirror, perfect symmetry.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý The river sweeps round northwards
ÌýÌýÌýÌý to the sea .
ÌýÌýÌýÌý Black water licked the gasworks’ red brick walls
ÌýÌýÌýÌý where sulphur once hung heavy in the air.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý Where stokers sweated blood on twelve hour shifts
ÌýÌýÌýÌý white collar workers watch the ticking clock.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý Wild white swans sit on their own reflections,
ÌýÌýÌýÌý quicksilver mirror, perfect symmetry.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý From ashes
ÌýÌýÌýÌý global phoenixes arise.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý The local bookie’s doors are open still.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý In Hatfield Street a plaque displays the list
ÌýÌýÌýÌý of men and boys mowed down in Ulster’s name
ÌýÌýÌýÌý while studying the form at Kempton Park
ÌýÌýÌýÌý Wild white swans sit on their own reflections,
ÌýÌýÌýÌý quicksilver mirror, perfect symmetry.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý In the gutter. crumpled,
ÌýÌýÌýÌý beaten dockets lie.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý Dark starlings balance nervous on the wires.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý Dogs bark from back yards at the western sky.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý The day-old sun slips over Divis’ crest
ÌýÌýÌýÌý and milky light of evening soaks the streets
ÌýÌýÌýÌý Wild white swans sit on their own reflections,
ÌýÌýÌýÌý quicksilver mirror, perfect symmetry.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý Gazing down at
ÌýÌýÌýÌý Ulster’s history.
