[I will write a poem about a place that I’ve been each week with music to match]

Neist Point on the Isle of Skye

Swirling batons of time

Erasing thoughts and hushing life and death

On a clear day you can see all the way to Iceland it’s said

In any case there to the north is Uist

Some puffins, squalls and lonely boats

swirling smoke and witchy breezes

snake around and between standing stones

Moss ridden ancient runes

Smashed to the ground by careless tourists

Who marked this place as sacred?

A ferryman, lighthouseman or a missionary?

Loneliness is an island cliff or peninsula dissapearing into the mist

Before time, before humans, before the rocks gave birth to the larvae that led to us