Here, the edge of the edge of Europa,
Ocean winds shoot through me, around me.
Here, the edge of a brief archipelago,
Stones stretching into the Atlantic,
Here, at the edge of a great renunciation –
No, the greatest renunciation.
What is it that is renounced?
What is it that is not rejected?
What is it that is accepted?
An island in name only.
A tree blind to its forest.
A forest everywhere, invisible, Nowhere.
The panorama of jagged Errigal, softer hills,
White houses, marram, bogland, the sea, the sea.
And closer to – a panorama of memorial, of invocations, of supplications.
A landscape drawn by lines of silence.
The big other, inescapable.
Closer than close, far away.
Walls of heaped stone enclose
That undiscovered country
You have discovered.
The sky above boundless, free.
Our ending is everywhere, nowhere, invisible, inescapable,
Drawn by lines of silence.