of a covid ward
lodged in my head
I gove sae lang at ae space –
whit else tae dae? –
I’m seein the white o ma ain een.
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
In the Central Café
/ in Innsbruck,
/ a girl in a dark-blue dress
/ unlooses her hair from its clasp
/ so it falls to her waist,…
Looks forward to being old and alone,
The carer with a spoon,
That’s me in the painting.
/ My face smooth and brow clear,
/ for I do not worry over
/ what I cannot see.
I saw you from my window, Margaret.
/ I was watching the seagulls swooping the sky.
/ The seagulls, I was telling myself, know
The tide is sidling up to Almorness, / unmet by those returned now north & west / away from here.
Friend, I have lost the way.
/ The way leads on.
/ Is there another way?
/ The way is one.
/ I must retrace the track.
/ It’s lost…
Time, why are you going so fast?
/ I like not furious paces.
/ Milestones glimmer and then are past,
As time draws near
/ the end of our days
/ and the plates fall
/ away from our knees,
/ let us not be…
i. You’re at the postscript stage,* I read.