three feet thick, stone, and 200 years

older than Canada. What I was

doing there was not to be confused

with doing something. But neither was it

nothing, exactly, and felt necessary,

though hardly a necessity, and so settled

the soot of the subjective over

everything. Objects of my attention

made more of me. The sedimentary shore

broke, like the day, into simple shapes,

which are the most difficult

to explain. In daylight I’d walk, unless

it rained, then hit the Co-op at 4,

before the working people. Suppers were

less simple than negligent, and under

the duvet I’d ruined with ink, the evening’s

plan turned to Ativan. Panel shows.

A PLENITUDE

Appearing as though they originate in spiritual rather

than material seed, as proof

we don’t know how to properly celebrate

or mourn — bindweed and ox-eye daisy, cranesbill, harebell,

hare’s-foot clover, whose ideology is fragrant

and sticky, the underside of reflection blooming

across centuries. Arguments for and against belief

volunteering in equal profusion.

My many regrets have become the great passion of my life.

One may also grow fond of what there isn’t

much of. Grass of Parnassus —

and when you finally find it, it’s just okay.

But look for lies and you will see them everywhere

like the melancholy thistle, erect spineless herb

of the sunflower family. That the eradication of desire

promotes peace and lengthens life

is time-honoured counsel. Still, you can’t simply wait until

you feel like it. The beauty of the campions,

bladder and sea, the tough little sea rocket,

is their effort in spite of, I want to say, everything

though they know nothing of what we mean

when we say everything; it is a sentiment referring only

to itself. Purple toadflax, common mouse ear,

orchids, trefoils, buttercup, self-heal,

the Adoxa moschatellina it’s too late in the year for,

I can hardly stand to look at them.

And all identified after the fact

but for the banks of wild roses, the poppies you loved

parked like an ambulance by the barley field.

NO 59981 05825; 56.24324° N, 2.64731° W

Landward, the cave mouth conspicuously dark.

Halfway between Anstruther and Crail,

singular in the vicinity. Prominent

calcareous sandstone outcrop on a raised beach

level, short lengths of passage

and as spectacularly weathered as the coexistence

of good and evil, the earth pigments.

Anchor in five metres, taking care to avoid

the numerous creel markers. At half-tide

a dinghy may be hauled out where the reef buffers

flat rocks, though they are sharp

and landing delicate, if land you must.

Wind may complicate return to the boat. Any visit

is a lesson in how quickly conditions change.

Having abandoned his mission . . .

Having abandoned his mission,
Ethernan finds the Fife coast
crowded with solitaries

terrible to see, worse to be anywhere near, these vagrants

in search of a hermitage

men and women, mostly men

in rags overworn with larger rags

no one on whom to practice themselves

poisoned by their personalities, speaking pain