The Mocking Circle

Underfoot old bones
Of grass creak with frost round
The jaw of giant who fell
Swallowed by hill
Surprised at winter solstice

What sign makes warning:
“Do not leave the path”?
Ground has some power still
What sun god makes here home
As the ice age thaws?

Children of cave men sick
With nostalgia for bite of granite
Fear the monolithic faces
Of the fathers they see
In the creases of rock

What army of brushes moves
Like mites on temple walls?
Here is monument of asphalt
What cement mixer pays
Pilgrimmage to ancestors?

Echoes of earth wrench upwards
Old teeth close in a passion
Men gaze upon mirror
Watchstone watches
Sun god is pleased