Dawn on Ancient Site

Grey granite knuckles
punch the earth's crust
and lodge themselves
in the morning grass

The grass feasts
on water droplets
while webs stick
to flying insects

blown in on the frail breeze,
which barely rouses
the deformed hawthorns;
sculpted by more forceful winds.


The rising sun,
igniting the dormant gorse,
freezes the image of a mayfly's death,
taking a day to dry out its corpse.