Gateways 1991

There are places that stop me to a sudden still
earth-tracks crossing on a woodland corner
echo of feet still press human warmth
on a frosty landscape.

A time-corridor banked by hazel
and beech root
against the wind-soaked hill.

An olive grove where silence
sings loud as cicadas
in the midday sun
a tumult of ghostly whispers
beckon me to the threshing circle
centred hot red velvet
baked underfoot.

Time past meets time present
on the treading of the stair
where a chorus waits
river calls
stone weeps
and tree watches.

Posted in Poetry

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