The cat is drinking water out of paint can lids again.
Yesterday’s rain is fresher than indoor water. She
Has always done this, prefers a dirty puddle to
A clean bowl inside, and chews sharp grass
From the garden until she has had her fill of
Above, the vapour trail shades from white to
Yellow behind the screamless plane shifting
From north west to south, from the night shadow
Still above this geography into the sun warming
The sea a hundred miles away, and beyond it
Peoples an hour ahead in their day.
This country lags behind in more than just the time difference.
The cat has gone in by now, paw pads cold
From the thawing frost, ignores the birds,
The hidden nests, the rustling of waking,
Her walk an arrogance of age and instinct,
Bred from the beginning of the feline
Wildness and sabre teeth.
The sun is a false harbinger of spring,
This morning marooned in still-winter’s
Treacherous promise of warmth, on this
Island cusp between Europe and Arctic
Where the air flow has been confused since
The tsunami rift thousands of generations ago.
We have always been adrift.