A memory of the Highlands

is more than imagination.

It is my foot placed

on the sooty-painted

deck of the Mallaig Ferry,

the coal and crisp

shadows of Fort William,

I, sitting on a

mountain top, amidst

mountain tops in

the Lochalsh sun

where a tear of

longing runs

down the slope, to the

loch, across the ocean

and back to where

I am now.