Sacred, ancient Albion
lend your ears to me.
Let whispers of the reed stems
bleed into fields around me.
For language, blood, and spirit
draw a bow string
and I feel the pull;
there something shared.

Possess me of your story’s wisdom,
a wrestle with love and fleeting calculation.

There’s a door somewhere in your grassy web
and that’s why the heart and why the head
had their tether split in you.

Ah, but how to mend anew?

—

Complete archive can be found on the Poems page.

This poem was published in Europa Sun magazine, Issue 4, April 2018

Illustration: Stonehenge, Wiltshire, by James Ward