From Leinster
from that patch of spaded ground
where Jack brought forth such vegetables
against a crimson dawn
and berries
where he settled it with stone and parents
to the loughs of Connacht
to the Queen of oxen
and her line of family on one end
village on the other
balanced on her heart of gold
and plowed
and every loam
freed of its high noon shadow
down to Munster
to its tractors and abstraction
where the dark blue diamond of a brain
bends it into a plane
and nation
where the King is eight tones on a scale
and autumn air is algebra
then even though the moon has disappeared
and all the clubs of heaven closed
and shivering
we can go up to Ulster
where the Ace can add the final point
the necessary mass
so nerves can take the fire of the stars
and quiver with the Holy Ghost.