In The Valley


In The Valley

In the valley each rock
Is reduced by rain –
It runs, as small stones
Which will be soil
As I and all that I carry
Will be dead.

Was this valley a hill
Before water weathered
And each sheep trail was worn
Between fern and heather
And steep fern?
There are no people, today,
No noise lying like the dead crow

But there are gods,
If one knows where to look
And can tread the steep slopes
Of this hill.

Every road intrudes
Upon slow thinking rock.
Who tastes the silence that lies
As each Summer’s green
Upon the broken rocks of rain?

Here, near Narnell’s Rock
Where Thor’s hammer struck
Many a startled tree
And where dead men lie like seeds
Is neither day nor sun
Rain nor rock –
There is only the essence that exists
Because essence must:

There are no answers
Because no questions can exist –
Just as I am the rock which is me.

Yet there are gods, still,
If one knows where to look
And can climb the steep slopes
Of this hill

DW Myatt
(Written c. 1984)

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