Mare Ingenii

Summer is the deceitful season, delusion
Sweats in feverish heat and light is endless.
The sun never sets on its empire of days,
Skimming the rim of sight at midnight.

A periodic rhythm, regular,
A dance, full-circle, draws time round.
Here in the mountains, dry for now,
The sound of water echoes, spring is recalled;
Winter is presaged by rainy autumn.

Frame of Refence

No more reason any more:

Sense in flux like molten rock,

Magma on what was solid ground;

Old certainties swept away

Like a pyroclastic flow from

The core of the earth;

White Rabbit

These pills in an small agate box;
Carry on as if…

Take each day the daily dose.

Medicine: a semi-precious stone,
Or counterfeit health trapped by it.
Powders and potions, nothing but
The dust of ground-down rocks.

Just ask Alice. Or Jefferson.

Late Light

Summer night falls on the sea-lochs,
Its long gloaming dim in the kyles;
Heavy-lidded, shadow deepens
In the folds of the hills.

They brood, craig and bealach,
The fanned scree’s debris, the high pastures,
Frowning at the last ebb of dusk
Scowling as the last rays burn
Shreds of cloud over island and horizon.