High above Peregrines mew,
fast wingbeats trying to flush me away.
Their screeches echo from the angular rock face
where lives tenuously grip.
A skin of Juniper scratch the limestone cuts,
Silver Birch and Ash hold fast.
Quietly, in the basin below,
a Willow dances.
Her slender limbs pale in the evening afterglow,
in my mind, in some alternate reality
not quite here or there.