The tide is sidling up to Almorness, / unmet by those returned now north & west / away from here.
I could blame da wye da sea is smoothed
/ da stanes; da sylk o touch; da waelin, laevin;
/ an will da haert…
(from The Four Seasons)
/ Seen from the machair’s edge
/ miles of white sand swathe north.
/ The light is Greek, I’m told,
/ The green…
Alone in this bay near Port Mary
/ only the waves creeping in
/ and the squeal of a buzzard
/ high on a clifftop…
A mile aff we catch a glisk
/ o Brekken beach: webbed
/ atween headlands, a glansin arc
/ o ancient shalls
/ sun sillered.
/ Waves aff Arctic floes
/ shore beyond the flats
/ wind …
Behind convolvulus and seeding grass
/ we park.
/ We see not one scuff or rip on the Strait
/ to show
/ two thousand years and more…