Mura h-urrainn dhuinn earbsa a chur anns na naidheachdan a leughas sinn no a chluinneas sinn no a chì sinn nach biodh e cho math dhuinn gach inneal a chur dhethagus èisteachd ri buillear cridhe fhèin? Feuch an tigeadh guth tron t-sàmhchair.
In the house where he sleeps
let my ears
be the leaves at the window.
When you took the autumn to London
/ And left me to burrow into winter
/ I said they could pack up Strathconon
/ Box up…
It was such a day
/ of sunshine wall to wall,
/ of heat haze and the year’s first frogs,
/ of blue hills stretching…
It is a union that suggests the essential mystery of the world.
/ Art for me is not an end in…
I love you because you love Harris tweed,
/ How it’s several times slumped into bankruptcy,
/ Business plans hauled back from the dead,
This is where the drowned climb to land.
/ For a single night when a boat goes down
/ soaked footprints line its…
Glaciers, grinding West, gouged out
/ these valleys, rasping the brown sandstone,
/ and left, on the hard rock below –
/ the ruffled…
Here lay a fair fat land;
/ But now its townships, kirks, graveyards
/ Beneath bald hills of sand
/ A long peninsula of solid rock,
/ upholstered every year in threadbare green.
/ Stones everywhere, ambiguous and burgeoning.
/ In Sanna ramparts of them