THE LAST FIRE

THE LAST FIRE

You gathered sticks

to bathe the night with fire,

You, in your element

smiling with watery eyes;

happy sighs - as you bent.

The next day your soul gathered

over your cold body

to be buried under sticks and clay...

THE VALLEY

THE VALLEY

A blow in still from Glasgow

though here  since he was 12.

He was proud of where he lived

in Falcarragh’s valley, not far

from The Station House

where he suffered depression

two years ago.

Hard to believe in a man

with a grin as wide as a rainbow

risng from the mist forming

about the foot of the mountain.

THE EDGE

THE EDGE

You smelled the lake before you saw
The edge – aromas of a time before –
You absorbed the tears of a broken
Mother – while they put wet clay
Over your Father.

Loosing yourself in a haze of puberty,
In that barren land; you got lost in an
Advancing mist, but the ghost of your
Father finds you now, leaning in,
And whispering through the breeze;
“you’re not the first to suffer –
you can face adversity.”

Moved… to another time, another place,

When you made paper boats; with your
Dad’s fragile breath – whispers of wonder –
Setting them free….
You look to the sky and feel, you sense
A different sphere and know…. Your Father
Was in his element when he was with you
And water, on this land.

Although much of him has faded –

You realise this, it fastens you to
The earth – loneliness disappearing;
Drifting away from the edges.