Madrigal

Was it a kind of love song

The slight sigh of cloud
Rolling over the Cuillins?

Mist on the corrie
A stone hollow of rainy secrets,
Something like love.

Cloud comes over
And fills the bealachs
Lifting again forever,
In slow turbulence,
The breath of heaven
Returning to itself;
The same sigh whispering
Inaudible but for our imagining.                       

Sky's grey becomes entangled
With the crags and pinnacles,
Hides their inaccessible steepness
And their perilously broken sides.

Love, as indistinguishable
As a high fret or the smirr of rain,
Falls on any of us,
A haar too high for sea
To ever carry.
As dense as seafog
It envelopes us.

In that perpetually airborne mist,
Deep in the throat of the mountain,
No other place exists
And we carelessly stumble
As footloose as a dream
Until we plunge from there
Into the clear air below,
Singing.

© BH 2015

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A word from my word-pile. Madrigal. Just so you know, its a renaissance musical form, a secular partsong, often about love, and a precursor to operatic forms such as the cantata and, later, the aria. Wikipedia's just smashing, isn't it. Scanning down the page, I spotted a reference to Petrarch and the poet, back then, who edited his works on the sounds of words and poetic forms, in particular the madrigal. His name was Pietro Bembo. I wonder if that's the one they named the typeface after... 

Of course it was. Good old Wiki!