Water of the land, water of the sky.
I break this day down to rain;
imagine clouds beneath the loch,
squalling the steamer on its way.
The birds are loud and dark
across the sky. I cannot frame them.
I cannot frame the day.
A small bird lands on the edge
of the loch and looks at the water so.
Its ringed leg suggests belonging.
The fish keep their counsel
beneath dense waters pecked by rain.
The High Window, December 2016