r2vyln3rdioj14u-rld0ska where mountains meet the sea: A corner of the road, early morning

A corner of the road, early morning

The thorny light
Scratched out a lanky rose bush in the air.
Goats had been at it, leaving five flowers there.

Scrabbles of bright
Water ran linking down the pink road. Pink
Rocks shouldered it to the left. The ditch ran ink.

I felt the night
Inside my head, like the one outside it, fade
Till its last shadow swallowed its last shade.

And into sight
Of inner as of outer eye there grew
Shapes into shape, colours becoming true.

By holding tight
To loosing every hold, I began to see
What I was not helping myself to be.

I looked up: white
Against a blue – five suns. And this I wrote
Beneath the constellation of the Goat.

November, 1962

Norman MacCaig, from Between Mountain and Sea: Poems from Assynt

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