And it would be simpler to contain all the clouds
in a single jar unlidded
than expect this love to be returned.
Just as the wind - breathless - carries a song
and never quietens its bustle to listen,
just as a bird's shadow streams over a lake,
just as our country exists and doesn't,
and just as our world's original dawn
will never again equal itself, but rises blushing
that it be admired as a constant failing,
so you are here and are not here,
your face a bright mist in my dreams gently fading.

- Kevin MacNeil

*

It was my birthday today. I took a ride on my bike to my favourite place, Loch na Moracha, out in the peatlands. It was a beautiful day, Greabhal ablaze in the low winter sun. I sat on the bank for a while, smoking and drinking tea and thinking about everything and nothing, and I thought of this poem.