Un-mortar my walls.
Crumble brittle stone grit
to honest sand.
Dissolve me through skin,
whispering to skin.
Your skin.
Your warmth.
A story place made real,
substance shimmering
like mirage challenged light,
crazed to uncertain travel,
tear steps evaporated,
one world’s rumour,
diffused in another.
.
.
.
Together or alone, Carrot
Is mostly a dog walker’s hill.
You can see the three trees from Fife.
But today it’s hoar fog and grey winds.
Twelve roses are anchored at the shelter.
Where someone remembered yesterday.
I know you, painter.
I know you want to touch me,
To peel me from the palette,
To draw me over your canvas.
To brush me into balanced space.
But do you know me?
You saw me first before the world.
Hue of phrase and proverb,
Never a shade faint of heart.
Take care of me.
I am victory. I am defeat.
And I am coloured certain.
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