A Black Isle Sunrise

The almost-morning, almost-dawn

Brushing blue cold from dark,

Staring out the wilder, furious stars,

Stalking night with gull-shrill cries.

At Munlochy Bay the wolfish grey

Grows steady silver, steady bright

Snapping teeth in jealous bid against

The clipped perfection of the moon.

By Kessock Bridge the blush of day

Runs sleek against the timid pink,

Runs deep with tinted, fierce intent,

To keep new dreams from breaking From breaking on the fractured light

One thought on “A Black Isle Sunrise

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