2277: Shetland Hauntings

It
is time for a tipping of stones
at a loch’s kiss-of-edges – hill-
pestered by burial mounds &
Odin’s kicks-of-whip on dead
descendants – This jug [from
which we slug a Yule story] is
hard to pour in other places –
By
a road across Yell’s north tip
a fiddler steps alone – Lift up
your sight from raw diggings
of each found resting place –
steer away from their trowel
& board boats among bogs &
dug bones of hallow bodies –
Bodach
& revenant of Windhouse re-
set by a seagoing guest & his
late hour’s axe – his record of
ungodly acts in a cold house
[set out on a narrowed point
of their island] – Here ghosts
still spill their latest remarks
as
a giant arcs from his slaking
& looks to his uprooting [up
above his drank-at loch as a
sea-bled mist weights in] – &
folk infect each other by call
& tales – they harbour fables
of hauntings & other stories

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