Did we touch at the place, where rocked
remains, wrung hard against the sea.
Our backs turned inland, we cannot walk on,
until shaken from this past.
Caught in a picture, something of myself remains,
ephemera, turned granite reason.

It cuts us deep to try, we cannot move the rock.
Walk away, the grass and heather wet
to the knee, wait, then turn again.
Look back to a time when the mystery of this place
was not despised, but celebrated for being.

We no longer know the path, but someday
will relearn the twists and hollows.
Kind struggle up hill, rewarded as rain in the face.
Feelings deeper than thought, yet fleeting, hide here.
Forget the years past, nothing can change this.
Don’t even try to cry, the headland neck, but, struggle.
Conscious as ever of the memory.

Windblown paths unpaved, we go back,
to where stones stand.
Encircled maiden, pipers offer no tune,
but still the whispered doubts
creep in. Don’t try to understand,
even less explain, the Logan and it’s parsed peace.

You’ll find no stance to push against your
tired gravity of time.
Inevitably in its mystery you’re trapped,
held under the weight of rock, again crushed
by the weight of belonging.
Still, you’ve changed and cannot go home.

Here, childhood wonder returns,
to all the things you couldn’t have,
imagined and made real.

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