This poem arose out of a conversation with my friend Kate Mawn and, later, imagining myself on a Summer day in Clare, Kerry, Galway, Mayo or Donegal (anywhere along the west coast of Ireland - my favourite landscape).
Lost Idyll
In this moment
I am in harmony
With myself
And all around me.
I am in it
And it is in me.
I am walking
Through an idyll,
My body in repose,
Perfect repose,
My mind at ease,
Open, receptive
To being awestruck,
As I am,
Over and over,
By the teeming beauty,
That surrounds me.
The colour of colours!
The gentle lapping
Of Atlantic waters -
An absolute sound.
The gentle breeze
Caressing my face -
An absolute touch.
In all this perfection
I feel frustration
Because I don’t know
The names,
Common or proper,
Of some of the flowers.
How could I
Be such a fool?
It’s not as if the flowers
Give a damn
If I know
Their names or not.
It’s just me,
Silly me,
Thinking I can
Box something,
Or capture it
With words.
I can’t!
It is beyond words,
And, in my attempt
To reduce it,
I come out of it
And it is gone.
© Michael Harris
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