Heaney’s wind   Stopped by the cliff edge Standing close by the rocking car— ­Torrents of wind flowing and you catch Still holding the freezing doorhandle— A sudden blow of comfort …   You are reminded of Heaney His slow stoic lines of verse Driving those four muddy wheels further Hunched in his cosy car island Slowly following the cliff’s edge in County Clare.   His thoughts bucketing sideways His heart buffeted suddenly upward Like a kite twisting and turning in the sky— ­And you stand away from the shaking vehicle Freed of the cold, chrome grip   Watching the…