dailies, 29.VI.25

The Nameless Lochan, Lowsmeadow

If this track is the wrong one

then let’s let it find where

we didn’t know our desire

lies. Right here–

hid in lots of moor, and wood-

lots, and lots of hill–

there is a single idyll.

Our eyes can’t believe

the menu: mizzle, reeds,

violet rhodies, seasoned

with stipples of yellow,

thyme, and sharp-tongued sorrel.

There is even a swim to dare

(will you?) in the umber water,

banded by degrees, (warm

to chill). And, in our film,

there is the sun, to come,

to come, below, below

our bower of crack willow,

which lets slip wet drops

on our taut skin, long

after the rain has gone.

29.VI.25