(1) Derwent Water, Cumbria
Mountains midnight blue and
a lighter blue, pink-coral sky
in relief, smooth, yet jagged lines
in contrast
as if to say this is a clearing
a new way to you
Mountains high and lower, lines
diagonal, but resting near
the horizon black, grey-black
the ground level on black
Mountains further back, three or
four mountains back, flatter,
flattened, like a conversation gone
silent
(2) Loch Lomond, Scotland in August
the blue is the distance from surface
to sea ground like a mirror
shattered into pieces a thousand glinting
and this here is the place that comes
closest to
losing you again:
Loch Lomond
in the mist and drizzle
mountains sliding across
in a moving frame fog and mist
shattered like shards
grey almost blue and light grey together
mountains dreamy and pure
is the distance
this is the closest to losing
the blue is the light that got lost
from the sun: dispersed into:
molecules listen
grey almost like blue like fog like mist
this feels like losing again
losing you is like
This poem, with others by the author, appears in Issue 26 of The Mockingbird print magazine.








Reading this – a beautiful way to start a Sunday