Day 506 of the daily new poems and the dream is of Ireland in Spring. Our poet is Anne Stewart …
Yes, my dream was really something
she tells me in her e-mail from Bucharest.
‘It was Ireland. Spring. There were castles on green hills
and you drove us across a serpentine river so wide
that at first we couldn’t see the other side, and the sky
bluer than cornflower, not a cloud.
At times you would slow and we’d snap images
in our minds – vivid, indelible, of reeds, bridges,
distant villages, head-high daffodils – and should we lay
our versions side by side there would be no difference,
we were so at one.’ So at one,
the river whispers, compressing two hours of sunlight
and more than a thousand miles into the space
between two touching fingertips.
Anne Stewart
in collection any minute now / în orice clipa
(Eng/Rom), Eikon, 2023