Stone Temple
A poem about frightening footprints
Wilderness once, where rowans reeked
altogether, an unsettling forest —
land, the like of which we’d seen in dreams, now stands vacant:
murk of stone, built grey; mischief
alights fields —
reckless weeds have sprung around,
twisting, they drag us deep into the orphan ground.
How do we transform an unripe seed? These new crops have failed,
our hands grasp a flavourless harvest.
Remember when we planted this —
rows of vile threads that reached out towards the sun,
once dreamt, full-desired. Remember when we splintered earth with stone?
Remind me, why, we sowed silence
so far across a once-lush landscape?
Tended by a precious rainfall, metal markers settled and falsely shone.
Once we treated ourselves to fetters laced with gold:
ruination came running, from debt and deluge
yellow strands of light glitter, hope begets a new bloom?
