Going Native
For S.L.
I can see you on that island/
You’ve no eyed connections
to newscasts or family ires/
Besort as a neolithic settler/
Greater lightness in solitude
will mark your return to auld
ways – to pull you to undress
[& be stripped away]/ Let me
find you under lordly clouds/
It would be so worth crossing
crested water with grumbled
descants off a [breeze-burnt]
ferry-man… I see she’s gone a
wee bit odd.. Aye it’s isle-fever
& it’ll only go by frostbite’s nip
..Is she a close friend?.. You’ll
get close.. as a bawhair.. Aye!
[& other lewd remarks about
your naked ways are so cast]
as his rusted craft stammers
into slamming waves – I’ll not
respond – I’ll hold to my word
[borne in my light backpack]/
There’ll be only one question –
Is there enough space [in your
borrowed bothy] for me to set
out my now-removed clothes?
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