A Black Isle Sunrise

Catherine Faulkner

The almost-morning, almost-dawn

Brushing blue cold from dark,

Staring out the wilder, furious stars,

Stalking night with gull-shrill cries.

At Munlochy Bay the wolfish grey

Grows steady silver, steady bright

Snapping teeth in jealous bid against

The clipped perfection of the moon.

By Kessock Bridge the blush of day

Runs sleek against the timid pink,

Runs deep with tinted, fierce intent,

To keep new dreams from breakingFrom breaking on the fractured light

View original post

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s