Follow me onto
the high moors and stone-filled slopes
uncosy home of backpacks and weatherproofs,
raindrops peck like fairy dragon nips
speaks, crescendo, in steep uphills.
watch the bald summit invite clouds,
pregnant with tomorrow’s rain,
cliffs that leer above their corries
grey, granitic frowns.
the sly burns seeping among the tussocks
the ridge, the hard-earthed track
sheep and deer, year on year on year.
Tonight we’ll find
the valley of the hovering hawk,
words cough from dead throats,
and the road
leading to the roofless inn
and its black, still moat.
E. A. M. Harris has been writing for some years and several of her poems and flash stories have appeared in print and online magazines and anthologies. She blogs at http://eamharris.com/ and tweets as E A M Harris @Eah1E.