The Single-Track Road

by Ian McDonough

So much heather and so very few of us,
even if we count the dead.
Today I’m driving on lonely,
hill over Northern Highland hill.

Only my thoughts
are crowded,
spilling through
the open window of the car,
landing on the tarmacadam,
sensing escape, taking to their heels.
When will we see their likes again?  

I capture one before
it makes its break for freedom.
What flag is big enough
to cover all this land
and thin enough to let us breathe?