Highland Cathedral

by Larissa Reid

His name calligraphies in the river here;
Conversations ghost in autumn woodsmoke.
Even as his body turns to ash,
I’ll cup his soul from the cinders,
Encase it in the palm of my hand,
Coorie him in, so that I may
Bring him back to his cathedral in the trees;
This open arched, golden echo of a place,
Structured in stillness and crafted time,
Where I can turn over a copper leaf
And bring him back, whole,
Breathing light and air,
And laughing at the birch leaves
Caught in my once-long hair.