As a daughter I will make her isolate,
I will make her as St Kilda
so that no government, ideology
paradigm of oppression may enslave her.
The approach to the sea will only be defined
by her hours,
her journey into the light and mist
and back again,
whatever blue skies she shall scatter,
shall be scattered.
Whatever buckets of rain are brought,
the buckets shall be loved
in storm and sunshine.
We will kiss the mossen land
and this will be her kingdom in the new
epoch of Man.
Thus all ideologies fall and the
cult of the Moloch,
the cult of masculine insecurities withers
. . . there, on the outskirts of islands.