Bog Dream Did I dream the village, or was I told, or did I dream I was Told, or was I told I dreamt it? And the bog, the black bog That oozed and inched itself Over the track? That certainly I could recall, as from a dream. Certainly the bog was there, just As I recalled it, when I walked That old track that disappeared Here and there into the black bog That collapsed and reformed itself All the way down the mountain. But where was the village? The village Whose ruins – beside the stream Where the track crossed – I recalled From the dream or from some old telling, Whose memories of the huckster’s shop I shared in some half-understood way: Where were its tumbled, overgrown stones? For now, certainly, there was only the ooze Of the bog, of the black, absorbing bog. Paddy Bushe
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