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There is a spirituality
comes from movement
I knew
as melancholy wandering
I stepped onto the Sandycove Dart
and stepped onto the Belfast train
at Connolly Station
with a slightly out of date ticket
and my writings in a blue folder
The train stopped at stations
I’d never heard of before
as it creaked its way up North
through the dark
and across the invisible indivisible border
I read about the European financial crisis
and looked at the window reflection
of myself looking at
the window reflection of myself
thinking of you
I stepped off the train at Botanic
? the surprise stop ?
and found myself once more
stepping out on Botanic Avenue
tree-lined guardian of Belfast’s left bank
I stepped into the Lavery’s din
ordered a pint of Guinness
and smoked two cigarettes fast
someone showed me tickets for
my concert next Friday
? which proved it existed ?
and then I was leaning on a bus shelter
waiting for the 59 to carry me up
the Lisburn Road
An old man shouted through his glasses
‘Here comes my drunken ship’
as I stepped on the bus
the driver laughed about the new fares
and I asked him for as far as the Regal
a long burnt-out built-over cinema
now desirable as flats
Every paving stone of the walk to our house
is familiar to me
and this brings ownership
ringing the bell
the hall light on
father’s greeting and
mother’s embrace
There is a spirituality
comes from movement
and it’s quiet in this house
where up I grew
with its strangely shaped white walls
father’s presence
sisters elsewhere
and mother everywhere
My writing’s in two suitcases
and a blue folder
unpremeditated
four albums piled high
toothbrush on hold
familiar shapes all around me
guitar cases
books frozen in time
exam certificates
a degree in a drawer
a child’s paintings
an old packing basket
& these street scenes from my heart
wrapped up in a Zurich airport
duty free bag
for you
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