Skye-ward

i.

Your train passes a valley—

Mountains around you
are unnamable muscles.

Your insides
shift like sand
as animals go ashore.

Their scars, blinding
as snow
tearing through spring.

ii.

What if crags and calm
are synonyms:

shaved tops chitter
to bitten stacks.

Fat folds climax
into spired charm.

iii.

The rapture of moss:

seeing its curbside self
magnify
over mountain belts,

as if every plant
is a borrowed thought.

The colour
between black, brown, yellow, green
is called clarity.

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