Remember when our hearts soared?

Do you remember the tapping and leaping
and a whirling lilt spun by a driving bodhran?
Or shadows of Dolores cooling corners of dark spaces
tilting the air with love and sadness and could-it-ever-be?

A hollowed cathedral looms with ages and ancient prayers
and crows who praise the Almighty from Cashel roosts.
We should really be with them...at church...and caw our songs to heaven.
If it weren't for water and time...

Do you remember wishing we could just fade and float
into Glendalough's cradle, under calming oak and centuries of hopes?
Saint Kevin won't mind - he's asleep...in his cave or somewhere higher.
I believe he gave up birds for angels.

Laughter pulled from younger depths of the heart
pour stories over the clink and foam of pints and pints...and pints.
Our hands entwined 'round a shared crown of life...
a claddagh forged from loss and dreams and joys and what-ifs.

That's stronger stuff than any metal can promise.

You are the grá mo chroí -
my lips, tongue, and throat dare unknown corners to proclaim it!
For the leaping, the whirling, crowing and praying, laughter, entwining...
it is as ancient as it is newborn...and our eternal souls delight in it.