This is about simply being very tired. It's called 'Lochan'.

Lochan

Lochan

(For Jean Johnstone)

When all this is over I mean
to travel north, by the high

drove roads and cart tracks
probably in June,

with the gentle dog-roses
flourishing beside me. I mean

to find among the thousands
scattered in that land

a certain quiet lochan,
where water lilies rise

like small fat moons,
and tied among the reeds,

underneath a rowan,
a white boat waits.

from Jizzen (Picador, 1999), copyright Kathleen Jamie 2002, used by permission of the author and the publisher.

Kathleen Jamie in the Poetry Store

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