You and she had four bright days on southern tussocked hills.
On Monday night in jagged pain you crumpled to the floor.
On Friday morning there we sat baffled, unbelieving,
in the chapel, at the cemetery above St Kilda’s Bay.
Up at five that morning for two hours she drank tea,
listening to your skirling pipes cry from your CD player.
We listened to your eulogies told by friends and clan,
while to our left the windowed wall showed us St Kilda’s Bay.
Vast clouds billowed, black and grey, dark seas endless stretched.
The waves were surging back and forth down on St Kilda’s Bay.
She did not want you rushed away after your hymns and rites.
By your casket at the windows’ end she stood alone with you.
Did you see her ? Did you hear her ? She bent down and leant her head,
her arms, on your timbered chest, for you had deserted her.
She smoothed one hand in circles on the wood that shrouded you,
trying to draw you back from beyond St Kilda’s Bay.
We kept our distance by the doors in that keening silence.
At last she turned, walked to us, your fourteen year bond severed.
Dark grey clouds were billowing, the gulls and wind screamed out.
The waves were surging back and forth around St Kilda’s Bay.