The Henge

Even now
cold stars burn as sun
glints through the stone aperture.
Winds trouble crow
to call memory:
footsteps slapping sacred dirt,
hands casting ashes of the dead
on the sacred water
and waving branches blessed
to greet the gifted dawn.

Even now
the ancient symmetry recalls us
barely echoed in our rituals.
Stars, sun, crow summon us
to dance again upon the sacred way,
chanting timeless through the upright stones.

Even now.