laurie-chetwood

at the top 
of the National Museum,
there is a bed of Highland Gorse,
tamed by a rope of metal, and
given Latin names. 

***** moon white branches
barely hold 
sickled leaves which 
fall into gloam drenched soil. 

transplanted, and
awkwardly placed, 
between two concrete slabs, 
it looks and sounds alien to the city. 

displaced, amongst the dull 
incomprehensible squeal of 
tourists and gulls, the heavy
roar of dim traffic, muted 
bagpipes and the occasional 
camera click. 

looking upwards, 
the shallow blue north 
of an uncluttered sky, 
and the thin 
uneven line of an aircraft, 
divided in two.