Stone Hedges
I love the rough hewn prosody of the stone hedges... I think
of the farmer who built them,
his unshaven face beneath
the broad brim of a hat
and the star of morning in his eyes.
I think of how the songs of birds
lightened the weight of his task,
the hidden bliss he felt
in finding the right place
for the shape of each stone
and how the stones themselves
became sacred in his hands
and wedded him to the earth.