A filthy crossing, ninety minutes spent
just holding on to some imagined point
one stable horizontal for my gaze,
A charm to keep the nausea at bay.
Until we reach the green and steady land
With its safe harbour, where I find your own
Familiar figure growing on the pier
Waving, wide as sky: Welcome to Orkney
First published on Poetry Scotland's Open Mouse Page
We might have been happy there.
You on the right, me on the left,
Under the moon. Stone blessed.
With our pots hung above the hearth
Our fire and our fish and our meal
What more could we ask?
And for treasure, the beads you gave
Which I kept beneath my stone bed
Hidden. Safe for five thousand years.