Morning Thirty Years Later

Why should it choose this moment to arrive,

actual as then within my brain,

Arran's peaks so calm and pink in snow,

carmine on the eye, Himalayan in miniature,

in a winter dawn? And drew me out

frost-struck, unwashed,

sleep-creased, knowing it would go

in minutes, and somehow had to be

witnessed in its otherworldly quiet.

Bony as a fasted monk,

out of the unheated caravan

I am there again

in hastily thrown-on coat

and bare feet thrust in shock-cold shoes,

and blow into my hands

and stamp, watching the roseate light dilute

to the gleam of snowy amber,

the chill rime brushing my sockless ankles

as I return through the whitened blades.

Written by Gerry Cambridge.

Published in Gerry's collection The Light Acknowledgers & Other Poems, Happenstance, 2019, is availalbe from

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