on the margins
damp with sea spray
ewes trundle over the machair
double wide
heavy with life
the lambs
in their fragility
(when they come)
so at odds
with their own sound
a clutch of geese
rise and hover
above headstones worn to nubs
on the leeside of Ben Leva
oystercatchers
flash black, white and red
wheeling over whitecaps
then settle again
the backside of my heart
pressed against dunes
echoes the beat
of waves breaking
over eons of shells
in this land of bent grasses
life touches
forehead to bedrock
and soars
at the slightest provocation
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