Portree
Open a squeaky gate, the curve
of its latch like Aladdin’s lamp.
The gate leads to the seawall, across
a wedge of daisy-spattered green
where bluebells kneel
and a fiery tulip speaks in tongues:
The same now, as always.
Always, and the same.
Boats in an empty sky
tug at their moorings.
Sparrows tousle the privet,
ignoring the pelts of the time-worn cliffs.
A pewter vase, full of ocean,
balances on a wall built of crumbling sunset.
The same now, as always.
Always, and the same.
Clouds lay their eyelids
over the soft sad hills, serving to remind:
everything disappears.
It’s already too big to imagine.
Should I then fear for the tulip,
and her children in the endless spring?
The same now, as always.
Always, and the same.
4 May 2023