by Sandy Laird

There was this warm night,
The sea sucking rocks and sampling
Steep shale banks;
There was you, a memory.
Across the firth lights blinked-
Coded signals of time standing-
And tides running.

There was the sleepy moon on its back
Attended by some fleecy immature cloud, changing.
You like the moon, were a beacon teasing me out,
Where might we be at sunrise?
You there in essence, unseen,
And me there alone; breaking.

© Sandy Laird

Sandy Laird is a member of Biggar Writers' Group which meets every other Monday in the Municipal Hall in Biggar.