Take a look at the skyline’s edge, the fortress of rock,
the place of a land defined by protrusions on a ragged sky,
of sharp silhouettes where black meets pale grey,
where the winds are the spirits that linger in fissures.
Deep chasms hold tight the echoes, whispered secrets
of a past unrecorded but snagged in the ache of folly,
still rustling in the heather, and even the pain
of a thrown stone is borne by a peat bog that will never let it go.