Poem for Robert Burns

i saw love painted
along the cold ridge
where the mountain
meets the stars,
i saw it in the face
of a woolly child
blinded by her own melodies,
oblivious to the rain



i saw it on august evenings
in a poke of chips
in a smiling kiss
and in the theatres bleeding.
i saw it disappear with autumn,
distant shapes falling
in soundless explosions,
i saw it dance for a moment
carefully without confidence


i saw love plead
for a hearing
only to be carved from
the landscape before its
colours dried.