Following one of our Bi-Monthly poetry gatherings Eibhlín wrote this beautiful poem about Focusing.

Focusing

She teeters on an edge of the rim,
pitch blackness, the unknown, confronts;
feels a primal fear of what she
cannot see and does not know.
There is no going back.
Precision in word, guides – pressure,
as after the increased revving of engines,
the pilot, granted permission,
commits to that final thrust forward.
In that instant what lifts is surprise
at the image that arrives – huge bird of prey
swooping down from above. She raises
her arms, grips on to its legs;
wherever it take her, she trusts it.

Eibhlín Nic Eochaidh

Photo by James Padolsey on Unsplash