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Slieve League
County Donegal, Ireland
by Christine Gelineau
Cliffs draw us, as margins must: that limitless curiosity limits excite.
It’s exactly the 600 meters of granite verticality that insinuates
closer, let me show you. Our thirst for clarity runs that deep.
The glittering little lake at Bunglass Point observes unblinking
as tourists and family groups head off along the ridge; there
at Amharc Mor, “the good view,” a sketchy fence suggests
but well beyond, the man and boy stroll, and a girl sits leaned
against a stone, turning the pages to her book, rehearsing nonchalance.
This high up, the breathing of the sea is barely audible.
Watchers cross and re-cross the glass distance to the waves,
imagining the release, almost welcome in the manageable
summer air. Daydreams. Less than vapor. Assume instead
the composure of the heather. After the cliff walkers
return to their domestic suppers; after the noisome
cars reload and wend back, sunset stains the stones
mortal red and shadowed ambergris. In the mobile dark
of borderland the sea repeats without complaint
the siren song of its remorseless loyalty.