He rolls his own
Holds the tip
Between his lips
As he sifts the tobacco
Onto the Rizla+ paper
He looks out to nowhere
His looking glasses
Are laying on the table
Such thoughts as those he holds
Have to remain hidden
Behind his somewhat darker shades
I have no reason
To ask for a point of entry
But if I don’t
Then who else might
For we are both otherwise alone
Think on
Of this breeze
Of the caged cobbles
Of the beauty of life
Be there
In the moment
With the emptiness of love
To wrap around you
Be wary
Of the dancing
Remember past times
And where the dance led
Yet encourage beauty
Try to be faithful
Even if that night
Was anything but
Watch
The flocks
Of black birds
Which settle
Into
The gorse bushes
Think
Of yourself
With such graceful
Controlled movements
As you take
Your very next steps
Sit
On the viewing platform
At The Boatyard Café
Look
Out to sea
At the one boat on the horizon
To walk in deep, soft, dry sand
Is to make slow progress
Although of course it gifts you time
To trace back through previous footsteps
There was a moment, back there
When I had to turn around both ways
To pull me out of the stupor
But where did I go to find such nothingness
Yes, I was nowhere with no one
I wasn’t even with myself
Such was the separation from this realm
Of time, and life, and lovers ever after
I am here
I am waiting
I have given away
Most all I can
But I am ready
To pitch in
With whatever skills
Life has taught me
Here in the reed grass
On the sand dunes
Between land and beach
On the Machair
As they name it
In the Outer Hebrides
Where I also learnt
The beauty of solitude
