by Andrew Greig.

‘We sometimes call her ‘Little Green’’

Because on the map she has no name,
I believe in the lochan ‘Little Green’
and her unnumbered Assynt sisters.
By road side, or unvisited for years,
they reflect the arc of sun,
the pass of wind and clouds.
At night, the moon’s turn.

Though it is mine if anyone’s,
I do not much trust my mind.
Those ragged icons bear the here
of this, the now of time.
Sources and witnesses…Little Green?
I have seen suns in her centre,
stars fold along her shore.

From Getting Higher: The Collected Mountain Poems published by Birlinn/Polygon.
Andrew’s website.