Young Boy Oisín Breen

Young Boy

I asked a girl out, Then the sun fell down, And my eyes saw stars In the spooling skein of space, Because I had not learned That my own desires, Although infinite, Are not fruit That falls from branches Heavy under the sun, But a violin plucked Shivering out a melody That sometimes rises And sometimes falls But is always contingent On a shared sense Of hunger, Of volition, And of need.

Oisín Breen