Curlews Lift
Out of the maternal watery blue lines
Stripped of all but their cry
Some twists of near-edible sinew
They slough off
The robes of bilberry blue
The cloud-stained bogland
They veer up and eddy away over
The stone horns
They trail a long, dangling, falling aim
Across water
Lancing their voices
Through the skin of this light
Drinking the nameless and naked
Through trembling bills
Séamus Sweeney 