In memory of John Montague, poet (28th February 1929 - 10th December 2016)
To cease
to be human
To Be
a rock down
which rain pours,
a granite jaw
slowly discoloured.
Or a statue
sporting a giant's beard
or verdigris or rust
in some forgotten
village square.
A tree worn
by the prevailing winds
to a diagram of
tangled branches:
gnarled, sapless, alone.
To cease
to be human
and let birds soil
your skull, animals rest
in the crook of your arm.
To become
an object, honoured
or not, as the occasion demands;
while time bends you slowly
back to the ground.
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