In a stone-walled field

near the manse, at the sea’s doorstep,

two bent trees, fifty yards apart. Each evening there,

a flock of crows and one of sparrows would fly within

the strictures of that square, turning past each other

like a gust of stars, two motions of a single mind.

 

Extract from the poem The Isle Of Iona by Geoffrey Oelsner. To read more please click here.

Photo by Carl Tronders on Unsplash

 

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