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Stone Worker
Gill Horitz

Hour a er hour she watches stone,

figuring shapes light and shade make,
with tools as the sacrament, they ring and ring.

She is the pit-head giant,

hands spanning eight decades
who moves stone with an iron wand

tucked into its hem.

Her ideas squat on her lawns

un l someone comes,
someone else looks at the rock traps.

Then out fly the angels, out fly
the eagles and the ram rising
into the yews where the black rags

of rooks flap but no seraphic wings.

Yet something in the garden
moves the freestone feathers.

(Author’s Note: Mary Spencer Watson, Sculptor, who lived at Dunshay Manor,
Dorset – wri en a er talking to Mary about her work.
First published in Gill Horitz’s pamphlet, 'All the Different Darknesses’,
Cinnamon Press)
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