*In Memoriam, Aedan O’Beirne *

I’d like now to be going out the walk you told me

—the Liffey to the Dodder through city byways.

North Wall, East Link, Irishtown—can I hold it in my head?

A heron in the sloblands under Edwardian bridges.

The South Wall to the Poolbeg. I walk four miles out

into grey pointillism, then filigreed dark, and look back in

—bracelet of shore light—to nights you were alive

and I was walking to the DART to Sydney Parade.

‘David—everything good now.’ I knew you’d stand a while,

counting light houses’ returns. It was your Mount Saint Victoire.

In the peloton near Grand Central, I achieve the glide

of separation. Walking out to Howth—the tide pooling

between the sandbars maps a river delta—

I never thought to be a fast walker.