Games at Clydebank

fragrant air, light and warm
brushes my face
pushes clouds over the sun -
their bubbling, lumpy confusion
whitens my upturned gaze

splashes escape horizon's reach
I watch them glow the landscape -
a fleeting touch -
and longing, deep-etched, breathes
and strengthens now 

gusting through my mind like wind
breezing-up dust-drifts long undisturbed,
gritting my eyes and I blink, bothered,
stare inward at the untoward nature of its sound

running in my head: I would love
to leave, leave
the noise and the dirt

loiter long among trees by some loch
shore, become the silence
take stock, re-store, 
far away from these mocking games

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