If it please the hills (Glendalough, 2019)

A man walks high onto the hill,

High on the ridge

To be alone up there

Where the wild deer anticipate his arrival

And spring away but turn

At the edge of the forest to watch him

Crossing the high meadow . . .

The man is carrying something

Too heavy for the valley to comprehend,

Something that keeps his head down

And his eyes on the path . . .

The time is right

For him to be up there,

Trust me (trust this telling),

It is right,

(If you want proof,

Then consider those rooks

Perched on the bare bones of the hill

Just like the deer, watching

Without comment, to see what he will do)

And what he does is this:

He stops, and sheds his backpack,

He turns to the four directions murmuring

Inaudible words

That carry nowhere in the stillness of the raw moment,

There being no wind, no movement

In that lonely place.

And then his body seems to spasm,

His head bobbing, his whole upper torso sinking lower

Until he falls to his knees,

And such a keening arises from that man

That the hill hasn't heard

Since the days when . . .

Never mind when. . .but

People used to climb to high-up lonely places

With only the wild to witness

And open wide their heart

Which otherwise would burst and flood the valley,

But way up here

Where the valley isn't even visible

The hill softens. It really does.

And sometimes the wind begins to stir

And sometimes a rook will creak or croak

In sympathy, but that would be a young one,

But for the most part there is a great suspension . . .

And then the man himself grows still

But no longer crouching, but straightening his back,

Hands resting on his thighs,

He seems to enlarge a little

And then, slowly, he rises

And as he rises he seems to inflate, growing

Almost doubling in stature

From when he was crouching and weeping . . .

And from his chest, from his mouth

Such a sound explodes

That it doesn't sound human.

Part howl, part roar, part battle cry, agony,

Summons, warning, curse, proclamation,

And let us not dismiss the echo,

And more than one,

But who is counting?

But I'm here to tell you

That people use to do this. I know this,

Because I was that man,

And it felt like I had rediscovered something in me

That I just assumed had died.

When I walked back down to the valley,

The communal dinner was just ending

But some stayed at the table

Wanting to know where I had been,

And I told them.