The grey storm passes
a storm the sea wakes from
then soon forgets . . .surf plumes at the rocks –
wave after wave, each
drawing its own long fetch– and the hills across the firth –
golden, as the cloud lifts –yes
it’s here, everythingyou wanted, everything
you insisted on –Even the raven,
his old crocked voiceasks you what you’re waiting for
Even the Raven by Kathleen Jamie
Mr. Cloud by Eiko Ishibahi
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