Irish Rain
by K. Kylyra Ameringer
Brown pine needle
Fish dart
Among the pebbles
In the cloudburst
Lake pooled
On the path
Our feet tread each day.
The hills march out
From a ghost land
Distant,
Camping
Emerald hard
In the ring
Around my fortress.
I'll set my sins outside
On the eroded rocks
To wash away
In the Irish rain.