Standing Stones
They reach away from our reality
as if we are a momentary blur.
Here by the ice-gnawed stones,
my mind is a broken-jaw,
bones rattle in fissures of time.
Menhir, dolmens and megaliths,
under the blunt teeth of ageless winds
the stones raise their wilderness questions
while the ancient moors and heaths
crack open new earth from old dust.
Sheep graze around these planted rocks,
but none enter its grassless circle.
If I were a sheepdog
I would bark at all these
stone wraiths also.
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