Dublin
 
Slow dripping days, high-flying ceilings.
An overpriced boarding house with
a narrow Victorian staircase that sank underfoot.
Dark wood paneling.
Well above a busy street corner:
bus sounds, the dry smell of carbon monoxide.
An electric shower in the closet; low water pressure.
The coagulated tingling feeling in the back of
the throat that heralds the onset of a head cold.

You almost left your wallet at the
pharmacy by the river.
The summer sun sets much too late
when exhausted with travel and fever,
the very real dreams of twilight half sleep
and fever,
and the low declination
of Edward Hopper lighting.

A lilty Cork accent in the night
lifted American folk songs from
the pub just below the window.

The bustle of early morning.
Slow dripping ceiling; high flying days.
     Your lucky Edwardian penny carried me
      safely over the Irish sea.