Palimpsest*

I follow the wall, tracing its line beneath hazelraw and bracken.

Feeling under the spongy earth the resistance of rock

against my feet, secure in dark-green Muckmasters;

below the mossy blanket, the stone is fleshy pink.

 

Now dug away, along with the rowan, and Mary McIntyre’s old place.

There, the house left a rectangle on the first OS maps;

Here, the iPhone GPS remembers the ruin’s position.

First step onto this new field,            the ground holds firm.

 

Aged silver birch feel warm, bark rent by deer,

their whisper reaching through the open upstairs Velux.

Sheep’s wool caught on a willow by the wall, near

where we hung the Cheerio necklaces for the birds.

 

Cleared space now         for a garage that will hold

the wooden rocking horse, half-empty paint tins, an exercise bike.

 

Above the Tarmac River tendrils of branches

grow at right angles around

the empty air

 

 

 

*Palimpsest (noun): A manuscript in which old writing has been rubbed out to make room for new.