There’s a ship in the Swilly
against the wind
up the Lough
an idiom in slow motion.

There are Curlews on the pitch
sucking up worms
and Canada Geese bobbing
on the Swilly's frayed edges.

Foam from the churn dress the wind
and crows fling themselves
about in the invisible
surfing the waves above the sea.
 

Swaying trees reach for racing clouds
and the factory chimneys
the Keep and the Castle
have all seen days like these.

On the bridge
men loyal to their dogs
watch the river fight the tide.
Never seen rain like it.
Their phones confirm
a Dutch fishing vessel.

The only ship in the Swilly
turns to face Desmond
volley off Fahn hill
into the fjord, where some
sought refuge and others fled.