Kjell Espmark reaches ninety
by Robin Fulton Macpherson
His poems can seem a long way off,
reading remote hills like small print.
and a long way back, listening to
words fresher than Genesis breathed
from lips centuries gone – as when
we look south from Achavanich
today, four thousand years ago,
hearing those ruffled hazels
just as Ava must have heard them
while catching sight of the distant
pyramid outline of Morven.