Glorious Exploits

by Ferdia Lennon

All they see is a ragged cloth, and it seems odd to me that as they cradle their funeral rocks, life wheels past them, weeks or even months of life rolling past, but they don’t know. Sometimes it’s better, I think, not to know.

and for a moment, I have the feeling that the future and the past aren’t separate at all, just different snatches of a single song always sung, given consequence when heard.

That suffering has stripped away the years in the way carpenters can uncover the youth of a tree by scraping the plane against the old bark. Yes, I think they’ve found a sort of innocence in their ruin.