We heard your name across the moor,
some Scottish ghost and fragrant mist
that tangles our lungs,
that promises honesty;
that breaks a stare to fix our drinks.

I lost my focus when it came to dreaming,
when it came to whale serenity
and peace of mind.

I lost my hope in trying to conjure,
praying creation still exists
in these tried and tired limbs.

We saw your face fixed inside the locket,
witnessing the storm, weeping for the aftermath,
scowling in the sun,
scowling through the rain;
yet smiling at the shop-front to cover screams.

I kept you close when it came to winter,
when it came to memories
to disclose warmth.

I kept fall close in the advent of spring,
to remind me of loss;
in the blind love of summer.