Fixing lightning conductor
(Stoodley Pike)
On the church towers, factory chimneys
never a day like one
pinnacled on that great beacon,
when I simply let go, stood erect,
arms upstretched, indifferent;
regarding earth designed to kill me
drag down through bright air, resistless,
wrench shapeless on rock-fall,
fragment into perpetual dark.
Hour into day, day into year,
year to end; all ceased meaning
in that moment's exultant shout.
Today I look up astonished.
Was it I who aspired
to daredevil fire from heaven?
Copyright © Bernard Gilhooly - All Rights Reserved
