Stuart A. Paterson
Comments about Stuart A. Paterson
At Crianlarich where the great winds roared,
hyphens of railway line flow to meet
between frowns of dark mountain, converge
tremulously for a timetabled heartbeat.
Colliding briefly like huge angry stags
in coupling then hurtling away south or north,
dark carriages filled to the brim with us
rest uneasily in temporary berth.
A quick cig on the platform, a sallow glance
towards fog-boxed peaks & diminishing glens
where the wind cries Morag and all our
turning points come to lost and boggy ends.