Take me to Cairnpapple,
where the stars knowingly wink
and the sky drops little hints
of more universal love
than it knows with what to do,
where spy satellites blink –
in disbelief perhaps
of what they know is true.
.
I hear the earth moves at Cairnpapple,
trembling to her very core.
Some primal rhythm re-enacting
in divine blissful harmony.
Mother Earth’s ground
herself into a frenzy, crying out for more,
as once more golden dawn
penetrates her hallowed mound.
.
So little death at Cairnpapple …
Ripe within the heavy womb
of the sleeping goddess
the stirrings of a new world order,
her Moon reflected in a stray grey hare.
And the Reaper, standing by the ancient tomb,
smiles on with a wry knowingness
of a new vibration in the air.
.
Yes, take me to Cairnpapple,
where powerful waves wash o’er
this mind-blown microcosm.
Wild energies pulsate,
as all is satiated, drowned
beneath the windswept Tower,
and the World that was can pass away
and we are nowhere to be found.
Copyright (c) Morgan MacInnes 1998
M K MacInnes, writer 