A fish is floundering between hook and pike
A hare blinks in the headlights
Will I choose a nut or an apple this fine evening?
A pile of bones collapses soundlessly
A log implodes into a pile of ash
A lochan rises up in clouds of mist
Touching the hours, the void appears as normal
I step through the glass in thought, unlike the swallow
Broken-necked on the ground, its pulse-beat halted
My tides are pulled remorseless by grey hands
A deerhound watches, emerald eyes ablaze
The deep beast in the loch
Turns in its coils
Too cold for me to fathom,
Far, far down
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem