Ring of Brodgar

Ask a blessing of stone.

Nestled in blazing blue water,
a cup of soft-heathered hills
overflows onto Orkney’s patchwork.

If I pace three times
widdershins

will I snap open the book,
find my lightning-struck fate
written on pages
lichen-stained ochre and gold?

Others scry the surface,
read the cracks like lifelines
in a hard palm,
scratch their hopes
to unseen gods.

In the dark unknown
we will soon learn
stone is deaf to our pleas

or we do not know
the truth of our wishes.

First published in The London Magazine