Belfast to Edinburgh

Belfast to Edinburgh
For Michael and Edna Longley

At the beginning of descent I see
Wind-turbines cast their giant, spinning arms.
The Southern Uplands send out false alarms,
Semaphore shadows, all waving to me.

Then still descending, as the windows weep
Or something out beyond the tilted wing
Surrenders to the planet’s suffering,
Plural phenomena that never sleep,

A far-off brightness shines on the wet plane.
A cockpit voice says something about doors.
The Forth Bridge is a queue of dinosaurs.

A field of poppies greets a shower of rain.

Douglas Dunn