A Psalm of Stone


A merlin whiffles and surveys

a ditch and bank, grateful 

for now open land and prey;


leaving bark and sap 

and leaf unsheathed; 

replaced by rootless fruit 


of earth.  Oak and beech 

suspire and sing

a bitter psalm of stone. 



Too early for dew, the Sun 

garlanded in frosted mizzlemist, 

Sends the briefest scintilla 


to trace the blue hour,

as processors slow-slip 

through the lithic forest’s


long winter shadows.

Wheeling as their voices keen

a bitter psalm of stone.



Exultant  laity shouts

an epileptic canticle

as wind sheared wheat 


rattles an indolent protest,

drowned in hammerfire

and brutish duther.


Its slack maraca 

rhythm rings 

a bitter psalm of stone.

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