Hadrian’s Wall
when first the pale, dun sun shone down
and illuminated my rose-tinged cheeks
it filtered through translucent skin
so all who gathered round could see
the wild Pictish child in me
I fashioned snakes and charmed them near
alarming young and old, alike
just my way; I did not ken
that such exertions would imply
what a Pictish child was I
the romans, as they would, amassed
first to consult and then compel
the raising of a barrier
designed to mitigate unease
and curb my Pictish tendencies
uncertain as to what I’d done
I tried to breach the palisade
but backs were turned, no help was lent
so I withdrew, plainly reviled
a sad, neglected Pictish child
and now I stand, an outlier
dulled by exile, smote by shame
too late to don another guise
I’ll remain as I’ve been styled
relentlessly a Pictish child
All Things Are One
Here lies a faint sigh
planted in damp soil,
a pallid breath,
a wish undone
Sieved fingers in water
the satin cool flows clear,
a vital force
likened to none
Red wing on a fence
—the swoosh of dried wheat grass—
up-soars in flight
through dappled sun
The candles flicker,
and gutter in pale dawn,
mist is rising
the night is done
Here’s the reason why
the beast, the best, give way
—before each soul,
all things are one—
