along the central belt

roaring traffic, factories,

tree-lined motorway

over and over

searching for that missing part

knowing it’s not there

winter seems to drag

its heels and rakes cold fingers

through tender green shoots

snow on the mountains

May blossoms blow on the wind

around Forth Valley

a house so quiet

the creaking of heating pipes

outside the sun shines

petrochemicals

filthy invisible clouds

my mother coughing

rising too early

a distant dog barks, a dove

calls, I still my breath

broken dreamless sleep

thoughts weaving through tangled webs

worry and regret

a day of writing

a story that will not work

a shredder that does

a valley called Hope

we find a wool shop open

so many colours