Step light and kindly by the ancient barrows,
hillforts and earthworks. They had their sanctuaries,
their groves, horses under purple cloudset
of their once-day twilights; the shredded hours
of history fused in their greybird lands
of cavern, stone and woodflame, bear and bison.
You tread upon minutes of their gravebeds,
you of tissue media, dead fashion sheets
and vaporous words; their falcon underthoughts
have marked their distances, yet memories
still enter graven in your deepest dreams,
their potency diminished, but strong enough
to stir the archimandrite in your head.
Eric Ratcliffe
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/advent-v/
