Infrared Goggles in the Curragh at Night
One of the soldiers said: ‘Look,
‘it’s infrared.’ I dragged the goggles
on and gazed up at the drifting dusk:
at once the others glowed in gold and white
all hands and faces, eyes and steaming mouths;
then behind, astonished, I beheld
in twisted hawthorn silhouettes,
the blobs of glowing songbirds, sleeping,
white with heat in twilit gloom.
Shane Leavy is a writer and researcher based in north Leitrim with poems accepted by Popshot: The Illustrated Magazine of New Writing, Ekphrastic Review, Poems from the Lockdown and It’s Twelve O’Clock; A Midnight Poetry Anthology.