The cockle shall

Busta, Sannis, Shetland

Busta inlet, round as a cockle: we’d watch
for seals here, skip stones, compete for finest shells.
We’d barely lift our eyes to see its shape:
that same shell pattern that spread itself
over mothers’ knitting: thirteen stitches taken in
then let out slowly over rows of lace:
waves that shaded to inky-blueness with the wind.

Today, hours splash gently through your fingers
as you seek, as once I sought, the perfect stone
to skip. Three skips will do, one more than last year. 
The rings you make spread fast.  Last summer here
eight seals bobbed like net floats: eyed us, dived,
eyed us again.  They left no spreading rings:
art hiding artistry.  I watch your stone dance,

defy the ways of water, the skip of years.
With you I’m right back: we search for seals,
seek cockle shells, weigh the import of stones;
skip and throw them, for the sea to bring back,
to cast on and knit again in time’s lap.

Note: the cockle shell is a traditional intricate lace knitting pattern
A gyo is a coastal cleft

Da cockle shall

Busta, Sannis, Shetland

Gyo o Busta, roond as a cockle: we’d watch
fur sels here, skip stons, kyemp fur da finest shalls.
We’d barely lift wir een ta see hits shape:
dat sam shall pattern at spread hitsel
owre midders’ makkin: therteen loops taen in
dan löt oot slowly on an openwark o gengs:
waves at shaded ta inky-blueness wi da wind.

Da day, hoors swittle trowe dy fingers
as du seeks, as eence I sowt, da perfect ston
ta skip.  Tree skips ’ll dö, een mair as last year. 
Da rings du maks spread fast.  Last simmer here
eicht selkies bobbed lik bowes: eyed wis, dived,
eyed wis again.  Dey left nae spreadin rings:
art hoidin artistry.  I watch dy ston dance,

defy da wyes o watter, da skip o years.
Wi dee A’m richt back: we skile fur sels,
seek cockle shalls, weigh da import o stons;
skip an höve dem, fur da sea ta bring back,
ta lay up and mak again in time’s lap.