Cilcain

CILCAIN

Dry stone walling up a hill, a steep drive
You had to taper it up
So it looked like a wedge on its back
I always remembered the shapes
Ragged edges with difficulty in balancing

Bricklaying was far more uniform

There was a mist that hung, could be
The souls of dead cattle?
There ok said Roy
As we walked past cows
Those eyes like planets sticking through
The membrane of the universe
Piercing but drowsy also

Apparently some lads down kings mill pushed
One over as it slept standing up

No stone was allowed to rock when placed
Small bits would be used to level out
When you peel an orange, place the torn
Skins on a table
These are the shapes of the stones…