By the hard side of the shore, abutments jutting out into raging waves, I paused, an incessant gale buffeting my puny frame.
Dark promontories primed me through sea mist; they caught my gaze, my historic sense, like the herring gulls circling, riding the howling wind.
I sensed you there, your sea-grey eyes staring into nothing, your soft sing-song voice of the Borders, ready to spoil me with sweets, port and lemon clutched in your wizened hand.
Somehow you were left in this nebulous place, our collective cries screaming “mother! mother!” — plaintive calls unheard in an entangled realm of souls, given over to the elements.
Ciscography 