We were just on the edge
of the map right
at the edge of paradise
where the birds were
peacocks flying and the
capercaillie strutted
black and red against the
lawn  - it taught me
to be phoenix, to burn
on the hottest pyre and be
reborn, it taught me
beauty and flying
into the sun, it taught me
the fragrance of mountain
air, pure snows, it taught
me antlers and repose.
Ever at the line of
sight it beckons,
enticing and afar, as if
I never could reach the
portal there, once gone
and slipped through the
hand like grain unplanted
it faded into the west
and in that sad
barque reduced to
a faded memory of green
that upheld the dark.
Collected Works
Return to Collections all
next poem