We held together as we fell into century water
of years of always flowing
for our time as a pool in a river
carrying last years leaves.
An eight year old boy and a wolf walked into the cave together.
Her husband dropped the axe she had made.
All of your pain shone in your eyes.
We held hands and wheeled,
all our joys were woven into the dance,
the dance of the centuries,
the song of the deep pool,
the face of the river cliff
giants look out over our world of tree tops.
You could hear their spirit house songs,
carried by wood smoke through the trees
and a kingfisher darted over the river.
He just took off his clothes
and stepped in.
Our lady’s face was veiled with ivy
and the sun had not seen her for birdsong.
The river voice ran through its verses of flow
and the traveller came to the gorge alone.
Late day’s airs fell still for want of company
and the birds all fell silent too.
The sound of water’s plunge between rocks
and still the shadows grew.
The hillside bard raised his head to the sky
and his words echoed in the below.
His song celebrated the moment
and invited the spirits to show.
The grey-faced giants looked out from the hill
and their limbs were ridges of land
clothed in forest, their ancient bodies were as still as stones could stand.
But they also have voices
to call into wind,
to shake free the heart from the bones.
And their echoing cries can be heard through the trees:
The love songs of stones.