It was possible to laugh

As the engines whistled to the boil,

 

And wonder what the clouds looked like –

Shoveled snow, Apple Charlotte,

 

Tufty Tails … I enjoyed

The Irish Sea, the ships were faults

 

In a dark expanse of linen.

And then Belfast below, a radio

 

With its back ripped off,

Among the agricultural abstract

 

Of the fields. Intricate,

Neat and orderly. The windows

 

Gleamed like drops of solder –

Everything was wired up.

 

I thought of wedding presents,

White tea things

 

Grouped on a dresser,

As we entered the cloud

 

And were nowhere-

A bride in a veil, laughing

 

At the sense of event, only

Half afraid of an empty house

 

With its curtain boiling

From the bedroom window.

 

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