Late Poem
In Memoriam
Mitchell’s Fold and Tintern Abbey
Stones stand, still in the sunlight,
Circles or cloisters; each holding
Hundreds of wishes
And plenitude of prayers.
The choked up orisons
Of centuries:
The chants imprinted here
On ruined chancels of Millenia bygone.
Do they despair to heaven? Their hands up —
Surrendering through stone
The fierce beliefs, mad rituals,
The blood and the bone, and the body.
No one knows. A plainchant
On the one hand, and on the other?
Perilous ululations
At the Stiperstones.
At the end there is always the same end.
A God nailed to the altar
Of our wishes,
And the women weeping at his death.
© The Estate of Ronald M. White
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