Bridestones
Scorched-looking, unhewn – a hill-top chapel.
Actually a crown of outcrop rock -
Earth’s heart bone laid bare.
Crowding, congregation of skies.
Tense congregation of hills.
You do nothing casual here.
The wedding stones
Are electrified with wispers.
And marriage is nailed down
By this slender necked, heavy headed
Black exclamaition mark
of rock.
And you go
With the wreath of weather
The wreath of horizons
The wreath of constellations
Over your shoulders.
And from now on
The sun
Can always touch you
With the shadow of this finger.
From now on
The moon can always lift your skull
On to this perch, to clean it.
Ted Hughes
Remains of Elmet
1979