These waters are never still. The perpetual motion of the tides carries drowned sailors south from Cape Wrath to rest on the shores of haunted Sandwood Bay.
I think of Lycidas drowned
in Milton’s mind.
How elegantly he died. How langourously
in those baroque currents. No doubt
sea nymphs wavered round him
in melodious welcome.
And I think of Roddy drowned
Off Cape Wrath, gulping
fistfuls of salt, eyes bursting, limbs thrashing
the ponderous green. – No elegance here,
nor in the silent welcome
of conger and dogfish and crab.
Norman MacCaig – Sea change, January 1978