St Cuthbert’s Ways

he clung to his sea solitude
his nest of stone

the seabirds’
unerring arrowing
their wet resurrections

he stuffed his ears with their cold cries
drowning out the peoples’ pleas
until he had to

no escape from
their hot breath
their calling
his calling splintered

had to walk west
over giddy moorland
branching through forests
paths’ tangling
to be trodden into roads

#26Steps M-N  |  Morebattle to Nisbet, Scottish Borders  |  Joan Lennon