Odyssey of the Fly, Poetry
Isle of Arran, 2015

I’ve dug my teeth into the red clay
and slept breathless in the giant’s grave.

Geometric stones that rest as if the cogs of some giant machine set mid-turn, rusted and grew flowers, cut, scored and rotated by an inconsistent sculptor. I look out from behind the yellow moss battlements at grazing swans and the fat faces of seals who rest with their tails fanned out in the air. An otter curls into a wave and disappears. The limpets hug broken boulders in hope that they’ll live unnoticed. Albatross cruise above the water, to drop as halberds into the skin of the sea. Herons pedal their wings over rock piers, scattering the gulls who taunt the swallows, who laugh in turn at the the oystercatchers cackling out of tune.