Wednesday, 30 December 2009

the old stone house

stepping out through the trees
eluding us as if
the night were a hoodie
though the morning
has risen for hours
a rickety stone house
barely standing
ages as testimony to
the crafters
beckons me
and my horse
dismounted we walk
eyes transfixed
the years scream and laugh
cry and talk to us
of passes by and
those who stayed for longer
of those born
and those who passed
inside the stone
they wait or at least
part of them does
we listen for a time
then drink from the eaves
refreshed and remounted
we amble back through the trees
where the day
which blazes noon
is lost to us
for now