sometimes there are no words
for the way the rain might
sweep
the limestone of the glen of Columkille
taking all before it

all words
all light

nothing but your eyes
sweeping the line of the rain
dark and impossibly true
as it moves through the glen

all silver
all grey

leaving no room
for the rainbow still to crack
the skies of Galway Bay
and leave you silent

speechless

all swept away

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