WEBVTT

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And the happier the poems
get, the shorter they get.

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And this is how
short they come now.

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So I'll just-- I'll read
these, only three more now.

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So it's almost over.

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This eight-line poem is
set on the southwest corner

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of the Isle of Islay
in the Hebrides,

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a tiny little village
called Portnahaven,

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which is the title.

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We walked the cliff
of Portnahaven,

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listening to the gray seals
sing on Orsay and Eilean

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Mhic Coinnich, across
the little harbor.

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Were they singing for the love
of being here in this place

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like us, far from griefs?

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And were they also singing,
as we were, to each other?

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