Tree daughters 

He grew

without knew

and without 

knowing

and without phoning,

and without calling

out a 

shouted route where 

a grout and a rout

and a bricked up

memory did await him.

And tree daughters

clever did 

entangle him planned

in bowl of curious 

transparency: like

gold –

a gold, fishing in panned

rivers and rocks 

and stocks

of beautiful locks and

tresses that, once seen,

did rhyme a future

beautiful, un-

earthly.

And to touch your 

redness and 

rightness once more: how

fine it’d be 

to drink from your 

wine 

freely, again.

So untrain me again,

please untrain.

I needed that lesson 

before – can see this

now, can sense this

dublin’ need –

but now,

more, much

more, want the wit and

wonder and 

wandering brain, and

the untainted heat

of genius 

regained.


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