The Currach

The currach strains to the full
in the low trough
between the unpredictable
mountain that is the wave,
not disentangled
but making a new shape.

The fantasy is revealed
in the white-knuckled joint
that terrifies
in its belief of another life
beyond the predictable

It is the flimsy base of skin
well tarred with pitched illusion,
that skims the space
from trough through foam
to the slap
of inescapable fear.

To pull with one hand
is a gesture
of the heroic,
man-made and defiant.
The stillness of the sea
supports the illusion,
allows the fantasy,
for those are the terms
of the old game played
the known terror
of life
and the unknown thrill
of the trough
where the currach knows
its fantasy
and survives.