by Robin Fulton Macpherson
Bogies no longer dismantled
are as new rolling quick and dead
over Drumochter, over Slochd.
Pines by the Tummel, left behind
but not. Gorse by the Shin, also
to be left behind but won´t be.
Manse walls never tire of waiting.
They were passed on decades ago.
The Raeburn is and it isn´t.
A bad dream will come and tell me
how round that kitchen table I
am the only one left alive.
A good dream will come and tell me
how spruce, birch and hazel still flow
past train windows.