Standing Stones
Seeing The Helstone below
at the foot of a Dorset hill
I thought of the sliding craig
that stood at the side of the road
outside our village in Scotland –
a helter-skelter for generations.
In the moonlight its surface
shone like polished leather –
even the diagonal cracks like
lines on the palm of your hand
were worn so smooth your body
could scarcely feel them and no
matter you started sitting upright
you’d always end up on your back
the sky unrolling above you.
Most descended feet first.
The bravest plunged down headlong.
Me. I am still falling.
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