Listen To The Stones Poem by Anthony Dalby

Still. In their beds
listen to their snoring masses pressing down
through shaft and head
and reaching high through untouchable void
to arc their fingers close to touch between the light

The shafts
they sing as transformed by coloured glass
splinter down the watery depths
and colour golden cheeks of ashlar
to touch deep red the curve in darker shadow

They wait to reach their Armageddon
the Prince's kiss
of dank wetness and fingers of rain tracing down their cracked veins
and lids prised open with knarled stubs of numb creepers
the split and tear and fall
down through the darkening light to crumble out
in dust and smut and stain
to join the Maker's clay

March 2006