because I am the closest thing
you know to permanence -
the base on which
your every dream rests
because sixteen hundred years on
from the fall of Rome
I still stand ragged
amazing your experts
awaiting the return
of the roof I held up,
my armoured bark untrimmed,
rough tough as moonrock
because my fingers conduct
lightning's bombast and timpani.
A bolt from the Gods
each one of whom knew me -
Jupiter, Zeus, Thor
and every other God of War
because my chest holds the keys
to every door in your kingdom,
safe as houses
your bailey and motte
because I am the home to mistletoe -
your shelter, my lips puckered as a kiss
because my mass hides the sacred
and profane places of your kings and lovers
because my avenue holds holy
the footprints of druids,
my gold, tan and crimson
a bonny bonnet for their hair
because I keep the keys
to samhain's killing treasure
because I am a holder of hope
for every tiny baby's mother
that life can grow mighty
bathed in time, sunshine,
rain and just enough cover.
Harry Gallagher
