Kylesku bridge on a lustrous May
evening, Eddi Reader reaching for Burns
on the radio. A bonny wee lamb looks
at me with apprehension—anticipating
our dinner choices. I feel warmth edging
out the darkness and the angst from sinew
and soul. I had passed these ways before
in turmoil and grief, alone.
You take my hand and kiss it softly
And I will luve thee still, my Dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.