Made by

Made by the fleeting whispy clouds
by precious metals buried deep
by the bright balloons of children
and the come-ons hustlers try.
Made by the solace travel brings
impressions on an Afghan bus
by business of a Portobello stall
that crazy flat in Sinclair Road.
Made by all the sights one sees
by the drunk leading the blind
by the publicans last orders
and the junkies on their knees.
Made by the high wind and deep water
and the essence of the sea
of a sky cut up with gulls
and the fir trees on the hills.
Made of blessings freely given
and those purchased in church
of the curses of the wicked
and the mercy of the strong.
Made by glass-blowers and masons
by the foolish and forlorn
by the nothingness of truth
and the fulness of some lies.
Made by masters and believers
by the streams and by the ponds
by the country lanes that curve
into majestic panoramas.
Made by stars and their foreboding
by the ominous strange cards
by some oracle gone crazy
by some holy drunkard's gun.
Made by madness and surrender
by a wily iron will
leading you to be so perfect
so harmonious to me.

Summer 1979. Eskdalemuir (Angie)