© Margret
Powell-Joss

Gallanach evening

A blackbird trills his song
in endless permutation

Like stately ships high in the sky
their outlines clear and solid
clouds drift landward
mauve and bright white orange

While silver rills of sea
race into near-black shore

The night was fiercely cold
the sky a star-bejewelled dome
clear blue canopy after dawn

Where the sun now strikes
hoar-frosted grass
the ice reflects
a glittering of diamonds