Limestone, blue-black in shade,
shrouded with rain
distilled from ocean depths.
White stone, bright in the sun’s gleam.
Grey stone, grained across the hills
groyned by water, layered by time.
Flowers spring from the living rocks,
bedstraw and cranesbill
and soft cream roses in the grykes.
The wind blows, salt-fresh,
marking the tree’s shape,
A bare place, peopled by history:
and relics of the time of persecution.
Little fields with stonewalls,
stone fields built by toil
and seaweed from the shore.
from the wind and waves
and from the singing stones.
from pipes and drum,
from villages and towns,
Stone and sky and sea,
swirling hills and waves.
In the harbour,
grey water in the evening light,
still water in the summer calm,
the rain passes,
then the sun returns, and the black boat
sails out into the rainbow.
(Published in Wherever, by Cinnamon Press, 2007)