The Burial Mound at Fowlis Wester
It’s easy to wait here, the wind blowing through
The branches of the elms still my heart
I came in uninvited although that was not strictly true
My troubles asked me to come here & be with them
They who built this they knew how to honour
The dead but now in life I circle it
Round clockwise a couple of times
Once for the rain and twice for those other hands
I would like to read the stone but they won’t
Show me their language instead I read
The trees & one of them tells me that
In 1896 John Martin carved out his name
I wonder if like me he held his breath
& let the time turn to sunlight
Some startled crows get even more startled
As the traffic rolls but not these thought
Which cluster in this circle & the rabbits who
Burrow here do they understand time
& does it hold them as it does me
A beguiling set of stones traveling to our deepest
Distance the gods of their flight are worried
About strange concessions & I am jealous
Of them & what they have seen because
I am part of a river here in strathearn & I am flowing
From one silence to another & make no mark
I have no stones I just watch the shochards
Bringing in spring I say my farewells
I get my bus & I’m back in the river.
George Dunn