Watersheds of the Afternoon

When time runs
in the watersheds of the afternoon
like water drops down a window pane,
light is changed, sinking slowly,
sliding downhill to evening.

Rinnin in watter

I see masel fae in aneth,
in a swite or in a dwam,
rinnin in watter.

Abeen, the clowds hap themsels
an whisper; in dags they weave roon
coupit trees that spik only the claik o wid.

Long Live…

Wi respec,
I’ll jist wear my breeks hauf-mastit
an shaw ma spinnle shanks for dule,
noo Leezie’s awa.