Scribblings – Bare Bones and Boundary Stones

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Long Meg, nr Penrith, Cumbria

The moon won’t swing in this direction now.

Did we prod its dusty face too softly

to see the cracks, or chip away too long?

I curl, like some shell, in our moon-abandoned room,

fossilised eyelashes on the pillow,

fists stiff as lump-hammers,

the crescents of nails imprinting my palms.

We’ve already ground out the bare bones

and boundary stones of our existence –

which is your side of the mattress

and which is mine. I’m coiled too tight,

but not as tight as the cluster of stars

above the roofs winking their meagre light

as a beacon does, a pathway out.

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Castlerigg, nr Keswick, Cumbria
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Castlerigg stone circle
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