For you Fell Poets out there
Between us
There's no wall here -
not even a grating, not even a fence.
I'm speaking of the space between us.
We don't collect fireflies
in a jar, or press leaves of dulse
in
A Book of British Shore Plants.
We don't record the dipper
saying clink clink on a bubbly stone
or film a vole
moseying through the damp grass.
We don't take these things home.
They're there, in the space between us,
the beautiful things without sadness,
the sad things with their pitiful beauty.
As they are in you also
and in me also.
For we live there too,
in the space between us
which is not to be measured
by those bad things, miles,
and those worse things, hours.
Norman MacCaig