by Robin Fulton Macpherson
The midges and the sucking peat-holes,
the shrinking of the remote parked car -
did the water-colouring lady
joke about suffering for her art?
The waves she painted haven´t moved since.
The Loch Arichlinie she painted
a life-time ago is dead nature.
The waves she painted are still moving.
The paper oblong with dried colours
has followed my life, living its own,
from wall to wall, decade to decade,
a private passport checked only by me.