Lordenshaws, Main Rock –
Carvings of ring and cup
Smattered with sheep muck and ladelling rain –
I stand and I leisure,
Elated to the tumulus
Of each giant’s grave.
Modernity waspishly circles
Yet I stare,
I stave the distance into desolate past
Where vantage becomes both peril and sage
And each effort is to wage
A survival.

Here vulnerable be bare, awkward be rugged,
Bleak be the violence of nature.
Here strength crosses space,
Strength determines;
It matters.

My focus shortens, my head hangs slack,
The wild eyes of the rock stare back
Fossilized in life, not death
Slumbering on a hill.