Walking downhill with Lucy
Because we are quiet the moment lasts.
The sun outside the spruce lights the roe,
before a footstep in the clearing sends it away.
How much time until your shoulder is too high to hold -
to ask that you see what's there in every space
you come to, before you change it?
When you look for it you find your familiar self
in the black mirror of the lochan,
not any self felt by hare or roe deer.
Clouds come and go, make what they will of this temporary moon.
Water lies stilled as memory,
as when you come to other people
they appear as you recall
from every room you've known.
|