Shanloth
You could set your watch
By the fields around Shanloth
Especially on warm summer evenings
When the creosote dribbles down the gate posts
And the rocks in the river bed
Are painted dry by July
Half past eight and the hawk hangs no hands
Above the acropolis of Neville’s old house
He’s spoiled for choice and opts for
A colossus of copper beach ten minutes later
It will be nearing nine when the big shorthorns
Begin to make elbow their way
Through the sheep on Canty’s Hill
By ten all will have disappeared under
An avalanche of night
And only the moon will strike the hour
Over the pyramids of Egypt
Tommy Murray
From Counting Stained glass Windows Lapwing 2009