(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

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)