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"Draw alongside the silence of stone
until its calmness can claim you...”
― John O'Donohue

They hover
over the sea
like ancient godmothers -
watching
each stone,
each pebble,
each grain of sand,
find its
way home
to their
feet...

i wake from
a dream,
arms still wrapped around
a looming granite knee,
mist shrouded shoulders,
my heart
ebbing and
flowing,
in and out,
bouncing like a small
child against the hip of
someone safe and
unwavering,
touching, touching,
touching to be
sure...
just to be sure

in my dreams,
they are mine

the cliffs
of moher

their undulating
curves hugging the edge of
a northern sea,
giving shape to the
ever-changing
face of
something beautiful,
fluid, mercurial, and as
tempermental as the colors
of slate, and
storm, and a blue without
a name,
only a sound...

it is the sound
of the primeval,
the weeping of the sea,
the keening of
a people
whose dreams are
woven in a
poet's words...

words
stacked like the granite stone walls
which sing of their
hope for boundaries that
hold them near...

for hearth and
home and the
right to
something deeper
than a name...

a granite
place of shale
and sandstone where
ancient mothers
dig their toes into
the core of
the earth
and the
sound of their
tears
drop like
lullabies upon
the cliffs of
moher

a place of
still water
at
center of
their souls

a place
where children with
eyes the color
of deep water
call
their cousins
back
to
sleep against
the
calm
promise
of knowing
they are
finally
home...

home
to the cliffs
of Moher

"you have traveled too fast
over false ground;
now your soul has come
to take you back...'”
― John O'Donohue

Kate Christie Mullane