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“Lines written for a thirtieth wedding anniversary


Somewhere up in the eaves it began:
high in the roof � in a sort of vault
between the slates and the gutter � a small leak.
Through it, rain which came from the east,
in from the lights and foghorns of the coast �
water with a ghost of ocean salt in it �
spilled down on the path below.
Over and over and over
years stone began to alter,
its grain searched out, worn in:
granite rounding down, giving way
taking into its own inertia that
information water brought, of ships,
wings, fog and phosphor in the harbour.
It happened under our lives: the rain,
the stone. We hardly noticed. Now
this is the day to think of it, to wonder:
all those years, all those years together �
the stars in a frozen arc overhead,
the quick noise of a thaw in the air,
the blue stare of the hills � through it all
this constancy: what wears, what endures.”
― Eavan Boland