Death is the sole of every footstep
it comes up in the dust, lies on the hills
is a haze to the distance.
Do not care, no animal does
keep on your run, every second a bright
Whatever words you have in your mouth
the feelings and thoughts that keep you
happy, down, occupied – so what.
Death is a traveller, Shelley’s ghost
in the sea; while you are well landlocked –
drowsed in the country, foxing city streets
with children in cars, laughing
Whatever death is –
you’re alive you’re alive you’re alive.
Jim Hyde is a member of Red House Poets, Lismore, Co Waterford. Has a poetry ‘sketchbook’ on Twitter.