I remember my making -
a growing shadow in a ring of stones.
Since then, a stone
here and there, a rotting beam, the slate
that slips by inches every year:
the light creeps in. It seems to be
a universal principle.
Stone is my mantra.
Solid ground my only reassurance
that I'm part of something bigger.
One day I'll be full of light:
a field of stones
for people to pick over
in search of artefacts.