Be still, not wild on the fresh morn opaque,
before coffee and sunlight, quiet calms
and compliments the first smoke of the day.
Though torment is sharp and your mind is splayed
into streams of soiled filth down channelled malm,
be still and balanced; then go forth please wade.
Let murk not linger, nor heaviness weigh
around strides powered by shoulders and arms;
let it flow back, back into the grey.
Fresh water the present, crystal not gley,
cleanses your hands from the thin sculptors balm,
it recedes to the past; times misshaped clay.
Push on, hammer north and conquer the brae:
cold feet, soaked shins, locked knees, skyward raised palms.
Be brave; be a man. Be strong; never fleyed.
Then be still, not wild, just still; not afraid.
Your now empty cup fills with sunlight-psalms,
spoken in silence,
