Rule of silence
The rule of silence cannot mute
the screech of nesting peregrines,
the ceaseless babble of the Esk,
the fugue of autumn in the trees.
A seeming paradox, that silence
might engender lines of text
that spool in stanzas; stories loomed
in Evelyn, Boswell, Bronte, Jonson.
Spindles hum in corners of the library
to form new threads.
The rule of silence cannot hush
the keepers of the starlit glen,
the clannish watchword of the owls -
whose spirit protects Hawthornden?
Wordsmiths close their laptop lids;
their words huddle inside like sheep.
'The unpurged images of day recede...'