(15/07/56 / Curragh Camp, Co. Kildare, Eire.)

' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' 'Flying Into New York

As we hit
the coast

the landscape
encompassing New York

gradually unfolds
as if we were looking

into a living atlas

each indention
outlined in ice

each feature
dusted with a fine castor sugar

of snow
the sea eating the shore

the plane's shadow
like a large shark

cutting through
the waves

biting the shore before
becoming a large bird

clutching a house
in its beak

now like the shadow
of death

approaching and departing
the living

humans
so minute

swarming like ants
as if their world

was the only world
there is.

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Comments (1)

I liked this poem Donall but this line particularly - 'each feature dusted with a fine castor sugar '- caught my attention Ruthie: O)