Michael O’Neill

Scene

The London Magazine - - NEWS - Michael O’Neill

The Adri­atic spreads to the hori­zon. Our bal­cony gives on to the lat­est dawn. It’s very early, yet a boy is up and curv­ing into wet sparkle from a pier-like spit.

It’s well un­der way again, this or­di­nary won­der, ro­tated cur­va­ture of light, event the pre­vi­ous lot kept wit­ness­ing when they were the ones who loved, who thought they sought …

There’s a low clap from where the waves col­lapse, and yet a si­lence can be heard. When, as I do these days, I let them catch up on me, in­klings of a fi­nal lapse,

I set them wish-ful­fill­ingly in such a scene, peo­ple turn­ing sleep­ily or wak­ing up, waters ex­tend­ing for miles, a boy div­ing, the looker on no longer look­ing on.

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