Leaving Iona
In memoriam Barbara Hancock

The firm geography of the island
dissolves before my tearful eyes
as we cross
The Sound of Iona
bound for Mull
and then the mainland
and then the journey southward home

Swiftly the village
shuns the Abbey
forcing it to seek sanctuary
within the eastern lee of the flanks of Dun I
upon which the white ash
of your flesh and bone
now lie cradled
by that elemental trinity
of sea and rock and sky