Hamnavoe

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 



Neolithic Lives

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.