The Line Dance
Clothes pegs hung in a long sad line on the wire, the thin silver line stretched across the backyard of the world like some endless railroad track to nowhere, and there they are, those little wooden people, those clipped-up saints, dancing to the secret jazz of the morning breeze, rocking to and fro, back and
Atop Craigendarroch
I stitched and capered a sinuous ascent through the ferns and treacherous granite traps sharp as you like Knavish roots and vines snatching all the way at my toecaps and reached the summit wheezing like a holed bandoneon The green and ochre scabbed shield chaffed by ancient ice delivering to me the stage upon which