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Poem	i i shall die yearning a hand reaching out to a face that isn't there a face seeking a hand a stone leaving its mountain- wall in a wind anxious to be a bird a bird crying to be a wall ii north wales the goat pisses the hawk hangs the mountain leans forward out of the mist iii on this hill between the stone wind and the wall of stones i am a hollow scooped out by the sun my substance dropped over the wall - another loosened boulder a plaything for grass the present sits in my mouth for shelter till the sun leans on his spade the grass throttles the clock around me the stone cottage flies away the wall leaps downhill the wind is a mountain the sun becomes gold ore timelessness deflates me look mother i have found a fossil here are the marks of its hands and feet it must be millions of years old my eyes are caves down to the sea
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