Northwords Now

New writing, fresh from Scotland and the wider North
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Deep in centuries

by Robin Fulton Macpherson

Unmelted snow on high ridges.
Far above summits a blue sky
has spent all day turning so blue
it´s black. Across it, something like
alphabets disintegrating:
each shape, that once was a letter,
Is a soft-edged hesitant wisp.

At ground level we leave behind
the graveyard with its hard-edged dates.
High summer sycamores, at peace
for centuries, watch over us
like parents who are always there,
who don´t die, who take care of us
especially after our deaths.

The Board and Editor of Northwords Now acknowledge support from Creative Scotland and Bòrd na Gàidhlig.
ISSN 1750-7928 - Print Design by Gustaf Eriksson - Website by Plexus Media