Fife fugue

Fife Fugue on fallow ground at the edge of the barleyfour horses lie down (one foal, one tossing) blue willows retouch a blue-grey skyas if Matisse had set them free from their Pompeii fresco in a calqueof sorts, olive trees transmuted in this Northern reach to willows risingfrom basalt limbs, the same dense-crystalled rock it seemsthat shaped the Bayof Naples’ basal rings ripening fields sparkle pastlit by rapid streaks of goldenrod flimsy stands of willow herbswirl on by like candy floss lining Burntisland’s serried tenementsa dozen neat lanrigs lap at the track now the slate waters of the Forthopen up, whip up low-flying swallows to skim the skerries off Kinghorn now a clunky meanderround squat green volcanoes and the bridge’s triple iron husksput me in mind of a gladiator ad ludum the caged lion’s roar, the tiger’sswift swipe through hexagonal bars at the nose of this carriageheaded for Edinburgh Madeleine Campbell