To the women who carry the stones-- I sea you. In this water, on this bank of pebbled sand. In the bundles of kelp, the sounds of jumping goats. I sea you as the sky fades and brilliance consumes, in these ancient tombs, holding names we never knew. I sea you in worn hands and Gaelic tunes, in power revered of the storm ruins-- in the fairy doors. I sea you in the temples-- on the alters bare and right where we've always been; supposed to of been-- defiant again. I sea you
