Issue 2:2 | Poetry | Gabriel Rosenstock

From Uttering Her Name, an unpublished manuscript

by Gabriel Rosenstock

5

Dar Omar

You are not yet of my time

we do not eat together

sleep together

rise together

I will get up three hours earlier

make toast in the middle of the night

smother it with honey

the moon will look in the window

curiously

out on the street

an urban fox

scavenging

his tail catching

the first light of dawn

6

Dar Omar

we walk the roads together

in the west of Ireland

Atlantic thoughts drowning our footfall

an otter

looks at us from a river

as though we were human

You relish the smell of turf-smoke

incensing sheep skulls

clouds borrow patterns

from fading Gaelic manuscripts

I pick forgotten fuchsia

fix it in Your hair

music wafts from a pub

distraught tin whistles

a crow alights awkwardly

on disheveled thatch

I press Your invisible hand

7

Dar Omar

I became a night watchman for You

staying awake for hours on end

eyes peeled

once I almost nodded off

sensing You

I became alert again

scowling in the mirror

Tibetan mask

if I keep this up

they will surely honor me

with a gold watch

melted down

torqued

placed around Your neck

8

Dar Omar

I was a beggar

You threw me a smile

I ran off

delirious

into the distance

later, tired

hungry

I sat down

now people toss me coins

I throw them back at them

all I ever wanted

was Your smile

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Gabriel Rosenstock is the author/translator of over 100 books, including 12 volumes of poetry in Irish and a number of volumes of bilingual haiku. A member of Aosdana and the Irish Academy of Arts and Letters, he has given readings in Europe, the U.S., India, Australia and Japan. He lives in Dublin, Ireland.