when looking is finding is knowing the end of it all

On Hearing of the Death
of a Girl from Home;  On Hearing
Her Father Was at the Scene

I lick my thumb

and dip it in mould,

I anoint the anointed

leaf-shape.  Mould

blooms and pigments

the back of your hand

like a birthmark—

my umber one

you are stained, stained

to perfection.

                        Seamus Heaney

                        Field Work

when below the cold surface of the early November

bog an infinite stillness is labored and born.

when it is labored and borne by the first hand

to pull your thick matt of hair off your cheek

when that cheek is mother of pearl …

when that burped perfume of the bog…

when the red blueberry leaves…
when mud, nettles and runty stones…

when it’s the first early snow—who’ll know any

liberty from this division's incessant hammer  

when maybe, instead, all of your last breath was looking

for a shape to take

when finding one is your father finding you--a shape only

the dead can take

when your father.

when your father:                                                                     :holds your hand.

           

                                    when that hush-hush surge.

                                    when it slips away.

                                    when everything everything goes and goes, it goes

                                    .