Apr/May 1999 Poetry |
Islay
On her stomach's flat pan
The otter cracks shellfish
Then whiskers off
To waterproof preenI turn to the unison strut of oystercatchers
jabbing the strandand a horseshoe of basalt
where seals snore
You can catch their stinkMorning is running now
The mainland has unveiled
Buoys on the swell
in only a hat of cloudThe winter light is beaten gold
Brief ice
The silence cogentAs our ferry builds smoke
noses into the sound
I am stitching its wake
into this sheet
Feeling the patter of drizzle
The gulls whirling
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