Dislocation
My female line from the Gaeldom,
masculine from old England’s lip,
but I am here, here, lost in place
amid the muscles of Glasgow city,
below modern Victorian cathedrals
and glass towers that must view me
as irrelevant as the passing gent
connected to his mobile phone.
Too mature to dream of islands,
or anyone else, but wish something
would shock up from inside, or even
send an Eve from the streets
to embrace me in her hands,
and both of us feel elation.
Page(s) 25
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