The bell is massive
heavier than a black hole
or two
inscribed with the key to alien DNA
a tone that breaks dams
raises dead
and somewhere
feel a moment of shame

~ ~ ~


The sun hangs in late afternoon sky
a sky for seabirds, small clouds, UFOs
ocean echoes everywhere

Cliffs and rocky slopes move up from the sea
I turn away, dismiss so much horizon, pace inland

On my left is a wedge of verge where two lanes join,
just a mess of grasses, further across, a long old-stone wall
and to the right, a mile of mainly-hawthorn hedgerow
The dry 50s tarmac has little bounce, good for the feet –
if I should ever need to hurry

I go past chopped-up fields with wooden gates and monoliths
time arches back                 trees are rare

Centuries of a ruined hamlet have intermixed
pictures of frailty, defiance and congress
sand-yellows cut into the turf

Winefride comes here
Through scale Her form is diffused,
fabric unbroken.
Her motion of colours and textures
shapes the heart of this homeland.

~ ~ ~