by Manuela Lunatmar

Memories of life

captured by black rock

like photographs;

way before we discovered how to freeze time.

Ancient-Small creature,

you tremble in my hand,

awoken, 

found.

Your memories are shaped in rock.

Small being, tell me,

of how the years chased eachother

like ravens.

How long did you lie under the waves Small creature?

On the sea bed, dreaming past the tides.

How many suns set at your feet Small creature?

Did you question the turning of our universe?

But I broke you 

frail being, I am sorry!

Your body fused itself 

with the cracks of home.

I was not as careful as the sand 

when I put you to sleep.

It seems only the dead 

can watch over each others dreams;

the throb of life 

is helpless to change.

The light shines upon you once more, 

and you tremble.

A final breeze,

of inconstant life,

moving through 

the Burren.