Poem -

Iona

Chaluim chille in the Gaelic.
Through shifting mists
Saint Columba emerges, flickering
in and out of time. He is the first
to come bearing the Christ,
this robed, cowled figure.
He kneels, runs his fingers
over granite, and raises his face to God.

I too make landfall on this torn,
sea - swept sanctuary. I too 
come with nothing but this flame.
It is my only gift.
Look - I will place it here
where, between us,
the very rock will blaze.