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Poetry happening—David Butler

David Butler reads from his new collection, Liffey Sequence (Doire Press)

Leaf Storm





           

                                    i.m. my mother

Some days after the diagnosis 

set time, a death-watch beetle,

ticking, you set out undaunted 

for the park. Your time of year –

air cold as water, the trees 

touched with fleeting majesty. 

As we rounded a beech copse,

a puckish wind stirred up and,

like Dante’s fugitives, drove all

about a streaming leaf storm, 

shoal-dense and endless, brass

after brass, chattering, sheering

in great murmurations, showing  

there is raw grandeur in letting go.


David Butler’s new collection Liffey Sequence is out now with Doire Press.

Eastwood