Thursday, 5 September 2013

Tuesday, 3 September 2013


The stars do not fall.
All the eyes in heaven spiral free
And come at last to earth. 
Continents, divided by the sea,
Slip, one by one, over the round horizon.


West wind comes like a ghost,
Summer a mere presence.
Winding roads fade into the hillsides
Where, barefoot, we wander,
Turn skyward, skip the burns,
Scatter in the yellow of the glen,
Lie forgetful in grass-grown hollows.