Carson
Nuair a thig an là
agus an sneachd na laighe
gus am bi am bearradh uile
fo chathadh ’s mar gum b’ eadh dust
’s nach fhaic thu fàth do shaothrach
no am beallach fodhad
no lainnir sràidean Ghlaschu
no fiù’s ident
gun lorg no facal sam bith ann
ach raointean geala ’s ceò bàn
a’ mùchadh gach gleann ’s gallan
’s do làmh fhèin air chall san t-sneachd’
’s iad seo a stiùireas tu dhachaigh:
Loch Ceartabhat Loch Marabhat Stein-a-cleit
cleas slugan sluaisreadh allmharach
cloimhdeag leòmag dìdeag
Why
When the day comes
and the snow is lying
until the entire ridge is beneath
a drift, almost a dust,
and you can’t see our own handiwork
or the pass below you
or the glitter of the streets of Glasgow
or even an ident
with no trace or word there
but white meadows and empty mists
suffocating each glen each erratic
and your own hands lost in the snow
it is these that will lead you home:
Loch Ceartabhat Loch Marabhat Stein-a-cleit
sleight-of-hand gullet sluice transmarine
snowflake snowflake snowflake
Peter Mackay
First published by Literature Wales