Poem: ‘What comes to mind in Ireland’

What comes to mind in Ireland

What is black? An absence of light,
the cassocks of parish priests,
dark peat in an Irish bog.

What is brown? A leather belt,
decaying plants, veins of iron in stones,
the layered bark of a log.

What is grey? Lowering clouds,
skies threatening rain over windswept water,
the speckled muzzle of an old dog.

What is silver? A crucifix round a neck,
handcuffs and shackles, thirty shiny coins,
a flash of light through heavy fog.

Feature Image: Daniele Idini