CARRAUNTOOHIL

Photo by Matej Rieciciar on Unsplash.

We summited the earth’s craggy crust

riding the updraft with the shaggy black crows,

sliding already toward our descent

before the cloud came, first a halo,

bright, then slipping as a hood

over the stiff-necked mountaintop,

suffocating sight with its blank affect,

formless, void, matter for a new terrene,

the old having passed into oblivion

abandoned by the wind and the birds;

nothing for it but to make a shelter

of the holy mystery of transfiguration,

to wait for the sigh of eternity

to pierce the silence with its light.