Nine Standards Rigg

Awd man waits

tips of his fingers

pressed to stone.

Nine women. They overstepped the mark.

Awd man smiles.

In low cloud,

he cannot see the tops.

Seeded from a meteor tail. A code to be solved.

Awd man sighs.

Walkers pass. Greetings

dumbed by a hollowing wind.

Clappers for wind peal. A carillon to fill the empty fells.

Awd man coughs.

He spits

thick and black.

Stone teeth pulled from the pocked rigg. Set on the jaw of the dale.

Awd man rubs

his aching hands.

They itch for a pick.

Rivets to fix the sodden peat.

Awd man is tired

he will sleep

or fall.

The fulcrum to two counties. Pivot for the stars.

Awd man dreams

of ancient times

of kings and queens.

A leaden coronet to crown the dale.

Awd man is empty.

Scraped clean.

Nearly done.

Grave markers. Nine rock-hollowed tombs.

Awd man dances

rock reverberates

deep in his bowels.

An ancient score for musicians long gone.

Nine pillars stand still.