Poem: Alasdair Gray © 2005



Smug Cogito, with flashing spectacles,
shouldered his gun and went to hunt for Sum.
A yapping Ergo led him up the steep
of what he thought were foothills, but were feet
of Sum who sat upon a mountaintop
elbow on knee and hand supporting cheek.
Sum was the mountain's size.
The sun beamed from her eyes.

And all bright summer day Cogito goes
banging at quasis hidden in her skirt,
bawling on Sum to face him like a man.
The noise was a small whimper in her ear
until she closed her eyes, and it was night.
He sheltered in a cave between two toes
and slept. And woke afraid. And crept outside.

Between two dark colossal peaks (her knees)
a starlit, lonely, lovely sleeping face filled all the sky.
At last Cogito
saw he was small, and ignorant, and lame,
and growing in that moment he became
as great as she. She could have been his bride.

He walked away because he did not know.