Sometimes I think of Dublin

And how poignant and amplified
The grey skies make loneliness
And I remember sitting in the pub
In the afternoon with a Guinness,
A salmon sandwich, reading Billy Collins’s poetry
And making great friends with the atmosphere
Later, walking past Merrion Square and bowing
Sincerely to Oscar Wilde
And in the evening on the veranda
With a glass of wine, a minstrel with a guitar
Playing Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl
And I knew I wasn’t dreaming, but I died
I died when I walked down the Liffey
And spotted a girl staring into the water
And maybe she was dreaming… or maybe not
But her slender shoulders made her look alone
And, oh, she must have been dreaming…
Or thinking about a dream…
As she flicked her cigarette absently into the water
And the slow mist rose up
And in Dublin
It’s impossible not to fall in love with the sadness of another.