Only you could peel me 
from my morning bed, 
make me cut a bath short 
so my hair drips 
as I check for your words. 

Only you could make me see 
a poem in the mundanity, 
make me daydream 
in a crowded room, 
swoon with delight 
at the tip of a talk 
blighted with tragedy. 

Only you could make the waves 
on a Kerry beach break more easy 
or change the dressing 
on my wounded soul. 

Only you can deliver 
the baby of my desire, 
gather up the frayed ends of me, 
make the music breathe its fire 
and the birds sing so much higher 
than they ever did. 

Only you could feed me honey, 
take away the dread. 
Only you could do this. 
Only you.