Martin Malone

2 Poems

In An Orkney Wood

Set off through a kissing gate
and walk the old drover’s road
through Binscarth and Wasdale
past the loch to Refuge Corner.
In the silver light of afternoon,
alder and ash crowd a hoggin
track shrubbed with Purslane.
This hillside confounds the myth
of a treeless north, as the rook-laden
canopy croaks contentedly above
where the children of Finstown
hoard rope swings and their Eden.
The warm July air is charged
with a sudden threat of thunder
as the path splits beside the burn,
curves on beneath the big house
through wishbones of sycamore,
beech and hawthorn, their leaves
their meanings infinite.



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