Frost haze hangs over the stiff furrows,
whitens fields with iced wheat stems.
A brown layer of trapped smoke,
a line against the pale sky, shows the limit
of this cold, dense air-bubble – an invisible
inversion. The Bass Rock rises
from a milk-blue sea, its base fog-blurred,
and to the long horizon, no horizon.
At this time, we feel the need for warmth,
for company, and if our forebears feasted
so can we. We gather further, winnow the world
for tropical fruits, exotic spices, tangy sauces.
No borders to bounty, no boundaries to taste,
no limits to wanting, because we can have.
And to those who have not? We give, we must,
for now we see that difference makes us all
the same. Need is universal, want is just the way
we choose to live.
Copyright © Colin Will
First published in Poetry Scotland