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.
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