If I decided to take up an instrument
it would be you.
In the stillness of darkness I would draw
your dark hair to my dreams.
Your blue eyes would go trailing over
Yeah, they would go where the heather
Then, when the osprey takes to the sky
you would know how much your people
and the manner in which their days are
born from the old and ancient sun.
It all curls over all of us
in a quintepitus frame of time.
The manner in which time is framed
does actually matter.