You

You
Cry rivers,
Rage rapids,
Croon the deep dark loch's
Eternal mystery.

You
Move and are
Like a glacier,
inexorable.

I
Am waist-deep
In you,
Heart-deep.

I
Drown gladly
In your discharges.

Funeral In Lewis

We lowered the coffin ourselves into

the grave and threw the cords on top.

Sea-wind, gentle for Lewis, stroked

my face. The poem sounded right

and I consigned John's body to

the raw, cleansing earth and commended

his spirit to the love of our

ancestors. Amen. Nor was that

pretentious. I could have accepted

his saying the same over me.

We did the filling-in ourselves

and left the old grave-keeping man

treading the turfs across the scar,

stooped, deliberate, at home

among the random headstones.

Crossing The Minch, and on that long

car journey south from Ullapool

I thought about the funeral.

I thought it was an honest one.

I think it was an honest one.