Really trying to open myself to new possibilities in my writing. Let me know what you think. Another Scottish Husband poem.
We took a tour to land's end.
Days and days.
A cord or band of loosely twisted.
It was the least he could do, being older, Scottish.
Inverness was a city of water, bridges.
I saw men in kilts, brass-buttoned jackets, skipping up steps to old brick, ironmongery.
Flashes of their socks.
I didn't know.
Or woven fibers.
Longest span of bridge over the firth I heard farther.
Road dwindling north to Dornoch door-knock.
Did we have a future?
Pulling-off places for passing.
Devastating moors random with crofts, spiralling peat smoke.
More sheep than people.
As in candle.
The clearances did their job.
He said a land a person needed to be born to.
Ruin in his eye.
As in cigarette lighter.
The mainland's most northeasterly point.
Sailed the Viking longships.
Herring long gone.
I was crucible.
Despite the look away from the camera, wind whipping.
Stacks of rock at the headlands.
Crash of sea at the bottom of craggy bluffs.
I bought glass in the gift shop.
A man needed to take a stand. Eventually.
That supplies fuel to flame.
Molten sand capturing bubbles, his eyes lost at sea.