Saint Tredwell and the otters

Papa Westray - For LH

by Joanna Wright

Three slipped from the marsh,
backs long and smooth as grinding stones,  
knotted the water

under a triptych-sky   
washed to every corner.

Lady of stones white with lichen;
Lady of yellow iris beds;

Lady of the piecemeal judder of windmills
speaking across fields; of flood,

illumination spilling
over swans and stubble;

ribbon, ribbon the fallen sky
along our pilgrim tracks