Calanais

From some fathomless place in a yawning sky
the lark falls soft, loft on salty breath
(its song-of-place a sharp decline)
to be an unkempt bundle,
post-bound & mundane.

Purpose runs deep
in the bird
in the land
in the standing stones,
old as any named for their place.

here on an edge,
the stones’ cipher, cracked by birdsong,
unbroken remains.