from Karitane Postcards
Itís a quiet street now
I see my mother glide behind a black Nissan
into a world I know.
All those differences out the blind side
words donít catch what did he say
some youth spoke to me
near the wharf the gulls flying over
with light in their mouths.
Watkin scouting the horizon for detail
an international gospel
carrying the Word one hill
with a light on it and named after him
requisitioned from the indigenous
there at the end of Stornoway I was looking for the fire tongs
Richard left outside I found them in wet shadow
- the earth is fire Ė he said
- I bow to the fire and to my soon sleeping.
[Karitane Postcards, Hazard Press, 1991]
© Rob Allan 2004