Platonic

Donegal

On gray days, you seem infinitely wide

Hills rolling like gentle ripples across

A rock pool underneath drizzle and mist

Emptied by sun, refilled by roaring tide

All of a sudden, on a clear, still day

The curtains of mystery depart and

Your true breadth is revealed, from cove to cove

across lakes and in uncanny ways

through old, resting geological forms

Sprinkled with sand and shale, held up by loose

threads of heavenskys that betray no sense

of the certainty that rain will return

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