Night is in the garden.
In both the black cat
is a small black sculpture
in the long grass.
I watch for ten minutes.
She never moves.
A plane flies high
over the city. She looks up.
her eyes steal the moon.
I'm tired. I go to bed
and stretch out in it.
Sculpturesque, I think,
as my eyes
steal the darkness.
Norman MacCaig
Photo by Alistair.
2 comments:
Hari OM
...sigh... Norman does it again. Is this recent snow at your place? There was a dusting on the Pentlands early last week and wonder if this was a similar time?
Wishing you all that is guid fur the Noo Yeeaarrr!!! YAM xx
Hullo Yamini,
Sorry for delay in responding. Been busy or knackered by turns it seems.
You may have guessed by now that MacCaig's probably my favourite poet.
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