I let the dead
borrow my eyes

so that they can see
the fingers of fog

fondle each tombstone
& cross

as a blind woman
fingers her rosary.

I see them look
for a land that is gone

farm & field
washed away

eaten by
the hungry sea

over the years they have
slept

so that houses
that were homes

no longer
even exist

&
where they played
as boys & girls

is now
nothing but

empty air

the living now
more ghosts than they.

They hand me back
my eyes

eyes
full of tears

that can not
cry.

A new moon
shines down upon

a badger

making its way
across a backyard

a dustbin lid
still wobbling to a stop

as a bedroom
window

curses &
lights up.

Dónall Dempsey

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-eyes-are-thirsty-for-onelia/