Break the lock on the field gate
Avoid the muck-worms at the gap
Abandon old visions you have of yourself:
Self pity in the face of a terrible God
The tribe of ghosts constantly shouting.
Get to meet God's strange people living there:
The silenced priest, the lost child . . .
Stay in the field with its mysteries
Sift through the grass with the brown hare
Listen to the hills clapping hands,
Crab apples dropping into the ditch.
If you remain long enough
You'll feel the warmth of a candle burning inside you,
The blur of its flame constantly changing.

Noel Monahan has published eight collections of poetry.Chalk Dust, the long poem in his most recent collection, was adapted for stage and performed at Ramor Theatre last year