The Psalmist

When I look up
my soul is water, it
trembles beneath your breath
as the skin of a mountain pool
shakes below whistled cloud.

Where there is music
let each voice praise you,
clashing cymbals
unleash their roaring
whisper, the strings sing

at one with braided voices
of boys and girls, and let the harpist
bow her sweet
neck to the sweet burden
of an air plucked from air,

the trumpeter bray
what you have promised,
that you will move among us
to bind each wound,
that all things shall be made good.

About Author

Lachlan Mackinnon lives in Ely. He is the author of five collections of poems including Small Hours, shortlisted for the Forward Prize for Poetry in 2010, and works of criticism and biography. He writes academically in English and French about Shakespeare and modern English and French literature. He is a regular reviewer for the national press, and received a Cholmondeley Award in 2011.

Editor's Notes

'The Psalmist' features in Doves by Lachlan Mackinnon