Albion.

Albion.

Yonder

Over the hill

Beyond the frozen forest

The sunken city

Surrounded by clay pits

At the very edge

Of a forgotten lea

Trampled with muddy prints

Cloven hooves

In abundant display

Beware

Pigs will eat anything

There is a boat waiting

Rolling slowly

In an oily fat swell

It is barely there

More a vision

Than a ship

Transportation

Means many things

Midsummer

Is a nightmare

When anything can happen

Stonehenge was once

A new build

There is space enough

For imagination

To flourish

As the sails unfurl

The edge of the world

Is a stone’s throw

From the bedroom window

Invocations

Fall on deaf ears

Nothing good will come

Of standing still

As the ship sails

Journey's end

Is as close

As eight bells

When at last

The watchman’s vigil

Will be over.