I let the dead <br />borrow my eyes <br /> <br />so that they can see <br />the fingers of fog <br /> <br />fondle each tombstone <br />& cross <br /> <br />as a blind woman <br />fingers her rosary. <br /> <br />I see them look <br />for a land that is gone <br /> <br />farm & field <br />washed away <br /> <br />eaten by <br />the hungry sea <br /> <br />over the years they have <br />slept <br /> <br />so that houses <br />that were homes <br /> <br />no longer <br />even exist <br /> <br />& <br />where they played <br />as boys & girls <br /> <br />is now <br />nothing but <br /> <br />empty air <br /> <br />the living now <br />more ghosts than they. <br /> <br />They hand me back <br />my eyes <br /> <br />eyes <br />full of tears <br /> <br />that can not <br />cry. <br /> <br />A new moon <br />shines down upon <br /> <br />a badger <br /> <br />making its way <br />across a backyard <br /> <br />a dustbin lid <br />still wobbling to a stop <br /> <br />as a bedroom <br />window <br /> <br />curses & <br />lights up.<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-eyes-are-thirsty-for-onelia/
