I was conceived between the Dee and the Don. / I was born in the city of crag and stone.
/ Just for the sake of recovering
/ I walked backward from fifty-six
/ Quick years of age wanting to see,
/ And managed not to trip…
Mechanical shovels scrape
/ the soft felt of your mossy slopes.
/ Torn brown welts bleed water, ooze clay,
/ and the tearing in my breast…
/ before you hit me with that object
/ shaped like a toblerone
/ let me explain.
/ We only went for a half pint and a…
I am the angel charged to take you home.
/ I have nothing to look forward to. You have.
/ You think you nodded…
Air-psalters and pages of stone
/ Inscribed and Caledonian
/ Under these leaf-libraries where
/ Melodious lost literature
/ Remembers itself! A white
/ Dove climbs on its Columban flight