An Irish Peace

And deep it settles in—a heavy peace
That dwells beneath the lighter molecules
Of warm kinetic energy and cools
The bones like Irish summertime, a feast
Of drizzling fog with grace enough to cease
For scattered smoke-breaks, not for busy fools
Who break the age-old rhythm in the pools
Of holy mackerel and clams. Release
Your thousand questions, pilgrim, for there may
Be answers yet, and they require more space.
So empty them like sugar grains in full
Teacups at breakfast; sip them for today.
The world is chilly, dark, and deep, but grace
Is deeper still and donned in Irish wool.

(Incidentally, this is indeed still my listening-blog and not my poetry-posting-blog, despite the fact that I've posted three of my poems in the past month. It just so happens that listening to "the Irish spirit" produces a lot of poetry in me.)