This is the rock that Murdo told
how he let slip Neil’s hand
one midnight hunting razorbills
upon an edge of land.
This is the rock where Iain confessed
of the wrong he’d done,
stealing Finlay’s store of guillemot eggs
and sacks of gannet down.
This is the rock where Angus admitted
how he came by Morag’s house one night
to scoop up a jar of fulmar oil
to fuel his dying light,
or how Murdo’s weak heart fluttered
upon the afternoon he dared
to step near Murdag’s washing line
and steal her underwear,
until that monolith exploded
because of all the words within.
Layers of gneiss combusting
with their thunderous load of sin.