I set out the stones
For Doug O
I set out the stones in a circle
arranging them from the North
not in order of size, or colour or even shape
but as I felt you must have lived them
the biggest being the times you were most sure
the smallest, those that were troubled.
I added branches of yew, a well of water
lavender incense (though you were
most certainly never ruled by the Moon)
and a red candle that I watched burn down
by two seagull feathers
one of which my cat stole
after knocking a stone to the floor
on his way to the window
leaving a brutal hole
through which the fire escaped
and when it did
I knew
you had gone
your own white wings lifting you
on currents slighter than thought
to a place where language
would fall from you
like a thick blanket
in which you had been wrapped
after a fiercesome storm.
Strong hands would shake
consonants from your hair
unravel half-worked lines
before tossing them
to others busy weaving
up garlands of simple sounds
to which I would add
white feathers
worn stone.
First published: Poésies du Nemeton, Edition du Luteau, France