James Thomson: ‘pibroch on a windy night’

pibroch on a windy night

the wind that whispers like a whistle
through eaves and leaves outside my window
soft as a rose, rugged as a thistle

begins to sing and sigh a world lovingly air-
lifting me up and nestling me down
here and there and everywhere

sound as it does like the clashing cymbals
in a marching band
the fingers of the wind are quick and nimble as

ears tuning into
the broadcast on airwaves up and down the street
unlocking the pain of a twisted sinew

washing back against the darkness like a pibroch
repeating the hours like a broken clock

James Thomson