Moment
I leave the people next door in the village
To go to worship, then head up
On my own past the bareland beyond
Where the MacLeans and the men of Braes lived once.
I stop and look back across at where
I’ve come from and the Raasay ferry
And all the vessels tied up for the day.
Getting on, I start out back home
And as I go round another headland
As the deep mist clears away, I stop
By the march boundary there for a moment
In the calm where I can just about make out
The light from the end of the empty island
And the beginning of the Inner Sound.
And, out of nowhere, before you know where
You are, the summits on the mainland on the other side.
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