I have sneaked by night off County Kerry’s
coast to this forbidden rock, stark moonlight
my guide through spewing waves meant to carry
me here. I ascend grass and slate, where slight
slip could send me tumbling into crags and
dark, slashing Atlantic below. This path,
dubbed Christ’s Saddle, seems a broken headband
of thorns, turns to a blind corner, sea’s wrath
now my only sight. Patient till dawn, I
rise and inch my way up thin stones, pausing
to pray at sun peering through Needle’s Eye,
pass bare Oratory Terrace, causing
me to find brick cells where my footsteps cease.
I kneel, praising this penance I call peace.
Roger Armbrust
July 14, 2009
