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Time-Sharing

Dennis O’Driscoll

Mar 29 2013

1 mins

In our time together
we are travelling in the heated car,
a violin concerto uncoiling from the radio,
hills streaming with winter cold,
year-end fields worn down to seams,
a blazing quiff of distant dogwood,
burnt meringue of snow on mountain tops.

We blurt past farms and cottages:
those whose era we share
are staring from net curtains
at a morning chill for milking
or for setting off to factories in the town,
their segments of road deserted.


It is like a childhood journey

of sleep and open-eyed surprise,
of hermetically sealed life
in the eternal present
before the final destination is reached.
We hold hands on the gear stick
and, at this moment,

fear for nothing except the future.

Dennis O’Driscoll
1954–2012

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