Lament for Lost Things I have found a place where stray ferns link long-fingered fronds high above steep, damp verges and below, in fuss and foam, a stream emerges. But sometimes from the hurrying water breaks a shy, jagged thought born of the ravine, not sought: a jutting fragment offspring of the river bed, aslant, no doubt slippery to tread and bearing the broken edge of a voice that once I heard. After that, nothing, not a shiver, not a word just the steady spill of all known things down a shadowed bank for who now sings the scattering of stone and feathered rock, and memory and mark?
Annie Kissack is a teacher from the Isle of Man. A fluent speaker of Manx Gaelic, she enjoys singing and writing music for her choir, but only began writing poetry in the last few years, becoming the Fifth Manx Bard in 2018. facebook @anniekissackpoetry