I am on fire ragging into the darkening sky,
the molten fluid beneath my bedrock smoulders on my skin.
I am solid silence, a reference to your orientation
I go nowhere, I go to the beginning of time.
I was born at the bottom of the sea, the whales sing my song.
I am magnificence petrified on the foreshore
conceived at a place where lands collide,
liquid hardening with air when the seas departed.
I am minerals of resistance on a continent drifting;
an anchoring of layers, granite, sandstones and shale
yet when you are very close to me I am not.
I am many and I am one. I am nameless, given many names.
I know the names of you and her. I am many.
I am the secret place to which she fled,
the rocky path up which she climbs,
the steep sided canyon into which she falls.
A gasp of breath, her muscles stretch and strain,
those strong arms that washed clothes in my roaring stream.
I am her gorge, a place to hide from her lecherous master.
I am a cloud-swept dream covering her with a veil.
I see your chiselled face in the half light
and hear a howling of sorrow as day breaks.
I am a grave that holds her bones,
grains of minute tone embedded in rock
and lifting them towards the summer moon
then I shall speak, not of self, but of molecules of story.
I will blacken out the sky, darkening to a shadow,
you will hear a scream, stiffened by silence, Isobel are you listening ?