My cheek was hit and hit:
Sudden hailstones
Pelted and bounced on the road.
When it cleared again
Something whipped and knowledgeable
Had withdrawn
And left me there with my chances.
I made a small hard ball
Of burning water running from my hand
Just as I make this now
Out of the melt of the real thing
Smarting into its absence
In: Seamus Heaney
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