Tony Baker

Near Currie Kirk

                    (“a remarkable & kindly man”.)

                sheep at the begies in the glear meaning
        darkening by the minute a few
hundred yards or maybe less
than meaning            Hills
sunk right off the globe’s edge take
me to the cleaners for a soaked football shirt , grave
                                                 token of utter
care, & the uselessness of it rolls the heart-
boulder beneath a sea that any second now
                 this place might turn into , a conversation
                           we never had    “what

thou lov’st well” , the rest ,
I never did like “dross” , would’ve
said god knows persistence isn’t a choice
of words we run to what matters most finds
us out along the twisted lines of drystone walls ,
a reused stamp or air-
                           fix model plane tilted up
into the late October mist , remnant
tenders we turn our backs on and return
                        to thinking of      your “threads”/
                                    “unwindings” , the connective
                                             tissues           silence
                                                          shifts

out across these foothill moors :


the island-signs :
                          

                                      bronchitic
sheep-coughings and traffic   
far off now on the road through Currie.

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