A Tenuous Threnody

This is remembrance, clasped in the bark of a sallow tree.
And we are survived. by the shards of a million velvet dresses.

But today, drinking barrels of thick sense, until my throat burns
I find, despite my efforts, I can not connect.

And, like a ballerina, with nimble ethics instead of fleet feet,
I recall the multitudes who have drank
From my thighs. a honey so simple
And so sweet.

Yet it is to the river and the reeds. that I belong.

And the casus belli for the gummy top notes of my emotion,
I found it in a sea of burning starlight.

And since then, I have had no name, and I always whisper,
Because the tourniquet has failed us, we, who tear at the death
Inside ourselves.

Irish poet, academic, and journalist, Oisín Breen’s debut, ‘Flowers, all sorts in blossom ...’ was released March 2020. Breen is published in 69 journals, including in About Place, Door is a Jar, Northern Gravy, North Dakota Quarterly, Books Ireland, the Seattle Star, La Piccioletta Barca, Reservoir Road, and Dreich.