My Grandfather

He lifted his stick towards the hill and reminisced.
"The sky appeared to breath with them," he said.

"They fisted in and out against the purpling cloud
and every time the blotch of them unclenched

it fumbled out towards a belt of muckle elms."
He lay there, facing heaven, he said watching

a corn-moon rise to the rasp of grasshoppers
waiting for the starlings to flock down to their roost.