St. Ciarán‘s Well (Sonnet)

Written during my recent trip to Ireland:

The rain sucked at my boots; my coat, dartled
by rain, my body encased and embalmed
in her warmth; bee buzz in my ear startled
me and I paused to listen to the songs,

Cuckoo calls, and suns emerged and seas calmed.
Holy wells and rain baptized and sunward
walks, blessed and wish and goddess healing balm.
The skies cleared for seagull flight, soaring birds.

The Celtic legends, stories, truths, I heard
this day, of saints and gods who sailed without
a rudder, aimless, keepers of the word,
return like water lapping coastline, doubt

behind. I sent forth blessings, prayed about
my losses, letting go, soul’s recent drought.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019


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