Iris Anne Lewis – Song for Seahenge

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Let bronze axes sing as they fell an oak.

Twist a rope from honeysuckle twine,

haul the tree to the saltmarsh land,

strew reeds and blooms of thrift

and mallow on its upturned stump.

Her body lies cradled in the roots

of the oak. Offered up to the sky,

flesh gifted to harriers and eagles,

bones scoured clean by the skirling wind.

                        *

We stole the timber,
the heartwood and sapwood,

swilled it with water,

infused it with wax,

encased it in glass.

                        *

On the shore at Holme beach

waves swirl as her cenotaph.

Sands shift as the tide ebbs and flows.