Halangy village, St Mary’s

1.

Two sea kayakers turn

their heads to the land they left

earlier, seeing a jumble

of grey and green.

2.

Each stone has a story, a home.

All of us are

displaced,

wait to be moved.

3.

I’m the top bird, this is

my ground. I tug life

out of here for as long as I

can see, before light dims.

I can never be sure it will return

when it goes.

I have mouths to feed,

instincts to attend to.

4.

At Halangy village,

we need maps to understand

what we’re walking on.

5.

Carpets of grass

the eternity of stone

scoops of space

with meaning;

6.

The eye tries to restore roofs,

soon gives up and ascribes

names and shapes to clouds.

7.

Before, humans with tools and brushes

gently scraped time away

8.

In an office, at a desk,

a piece of paper rests:

a plan for where to place the maps,

where best to share

what isn’t known.

9.

Now, no smells.

but once, pungent smoke

the cooking of fish skin

the whiff of animal shit.

10.

The peace is alarming

being where my race

failed to survive,

a place left behind.

11.

I’m Alex! The dog! I’m off! Exploring!

No lead on! Off!

My favourite place is here!

12.

This is my village

But we cannot continue.

I’m the leader, it dies,

in my hands.

https://www.english-heritage.org.uk/daysout/properties/bants-carn-burial-chamber-and-halangy-down-ancient-village/

-2012

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