ONLY IN DERRY PORT

Weighing anchor I had caught sight again
of the Peace Bridge, stylistic spars
spreading high into the air:
sleek metal limbs …
reminding me of the night before.

Our clipper sliced through the tidal river
as we tacked against the fretful gusts
in bold seduction of sweet Sídhe,
reminding me of the night before.

We passed the mouth of the Lough:
red striped sail and crew whites of portside craft
summoning an image of her smile
and Atlantic swell recalling that
as I watched her apply her lipstick
the morning after,
naked and glowing from the night before.