hamilton, past the fuse forest, out beneath the stars, along that road, a high bare pilgrims track where sweeny fled before the blooded heads, goat beards and dogs eyes in demon pack blazing out of the ground, snapping and squeeling, what blase? is ahead of you, faked road block, the red lamp swung, the sudden breaks installing engine, voices, heads hooded and the cold nosed gun or in your driving mirror, tailing headlights that pulled out suddenly and flagged you down where you weren't known and far from what you knew, the lowland clays and waters of lochpeg just church island spire its soft tree line of you, there you once heard guns fired behind the house long before rising time when duck shooters haunted the marigolds and bullrushes, but still were scared to find spent cartridges, acquid, brassy, genital, ejected on your way across the strand to fetch the cows. for you and yours, and yours and mine, fought shy, spoke an old language of conspirators and could not crack the whip or seize the day, big voiced scollions, herders, feelers round haycocks and henquarters, talkers and bars, slow arb