Robin Fulton

The gravestones still weigh the same.
No-one has altered the dates.
...

Behind convolvulus and seeding grass
we park.
We see not one scuff or rip on the Strait
...

If it weren't for
this red tweed jacket
I bought in Brora
...

Snowflake grinds against snowflake.
Grass creaks like old furniture.
...

God said: Let the dark be dark.
Let the stars shine properly.
And let darkness with no stars
...

The elements are always there: water and straw,
beasts with warm noses and ignorant eyes,
shepherds satisfied that they have found
...

If God had stood there, high-antlered,
eyes jewelled for a second, fearful of
my car´s predatory noise yet giving
...

The bridge holds because it gives way.
Grey wires, planks weathered white
give to father´s tread, which I try to match.
...

The thunder has lost its memory
but it goes on mumbling,
fish in their element
...

The chestnut they said had stood for seventy years.
Its whiteness in May, redness in September,
thin scrolls of long fingery twigs,
...

"The more you pare the fatter it becomes" -
by which you meant, I suppose, that leanness
occupies its space exactly.
...

Things have been going too well.
Must hold steady. Don´t
stare at the river-boat.
...

In the hand, found wanting.
There are more ways to growth
than obeying green cells.
...

Back to the Old Quad dream:
in the latest version
I´m on the outside of
...

Birches and pines have come down their long slopes.
They are squat and hazy. They swell and shrink.
...

Finding no moon, no stars, no
horizon.
Seeing no difference beween
...

"Native land" is something I keep leaving.
St Mary´s Lighthouse, and the cooling-towers
at Blyth, shrink, vanish, last visible proof
...

The TV screens of all Europe show
severe low pressure south of Iceland
drenching Caithness drenching Sutherland
...

Heard my blood say to my ear, "just me,"
and my tinnitus, "I never tire."
...

The white glow from the wakened corpse
brightens the faces of the two
staring angels, one left one right,
...