sky pearl blue
and the shape
of a blue pearl,
slick with a penetrable shine
and red on the edges
like a match being struck.
and the air hits the throat
with a cold tang of apple juice,
drawing out savages
and the rasp of saliva.
we are walking up the hills
somewhere in Leitrim, probably,
though here they don’t have signposts,
because we were told about a waterfall
before you hit the windmills.
and the sticks you get underfoot
are dry enough to break
but not snap
and there is a glow to your hair
which takes the water here well
and an attractive smell
of soap and some sort of moisturizer
when I get close to you.
it’s been months since we’ve been here
with the love which makes you want
to turn to stone together
on a small island with nobody else
but I still enjoy
the way you are always so consciously
in the moment
and that is something
since you flare too
with the hot redness of a match
the same as the changing temper
of the sky
which is followed in every direction.
DS Maolalai has been nominated four times for Best of the Net and three times for the Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been released in two collections, Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden (Encircle Press, 2016) and Sad Havoc Among the Birds (Turas Press, 2019). Read more of DS here.