Lisa Hannigan Anahorish

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My 'place of clear water'
The first hill in the world
Where springs washed into
The shiny grass.

And darkened cobbles
In the bed of the lane
Anahorish, soft gradient
Of consonant, vowel-meadow.

After-image of lamps
Swung through the years
On winter evenings
With pails and barrows.

Those mound-dwellers
Go waist-deep in mist
To break the light ice
At wells and dunghills.