PORT EDGAR, MAY (AFTER)
canny see the banks anymore
the firth’s havin a tantrum leather-helled
crests bellowing and whites sizzling cursing shale
and sloshing the scoosh in
the last of your stones are here
flowers are withered
and notes are dribbled
from scottish drizzle
letters to lyrics now chipped and chiselled lacing rememberings in marl
scratched fragments of something
a wee bit more than pop lore
then there’s the bridge above
suspending tension
holding up the road
in exchange for dropping down
bolts securing commutes and ensuring views maybe they were trembling,
your final wee hour musings
checked out
as I check out where I guess they must ah found you I’ve come from the northern side
fae the fife of ours
on the off chance
of finding something settling
maybe mistaken
canny replace what’s missing
the sand is wettened and dries
and the tide falls and rises again
whistling
is all the wind’s producing
and licking
and lapping
is all the water’s doing
i’m hearing the swell
and i’m listening to you from the pebbles and petals we are wading
and we are diving
the north sea
and the melodies and melancholy and ecstasy and everything else
Euan Stamper
