No more is needed
No more is needed than for light to catch a slab
of slate at the field’s edge along the old people’s road
that winds in natural and down-to-earth fashion
in and out of the horizon before those who built
open-hearth rooms and churches come
towards me on the far side of ascension field.
No more is needed than for the light of history
to bristle like golden corn over the farm courtyards,
the bulb boxes and cutting beds, and the combine harvester
when it comes into view and disappears on the far
side of the moraine ridge in an enduring ring-dance,
to put me on the track of an old ritual – I can understand
that pilgrims built a church on these heights.
No more is needed than for light to put back the slab
of slate at the edge of the ditch, like a normal stone
without outward signs of having been part of an altar
before I realise that he who wishes to give the dead
a place in his memory must keep his eyes open
to the fact that the ruins of the past only exist in light.
To see the collection from which this poem has been taken, go to here.