‘Saint Julian in Winter’ by Tim MacGabhann

Stood, leadenboned, before the bed-length grooved barrows. Lit rainwater brimmed there: the tombstone’s saddle-gloss became a font, and anima reglossed itself as that instant in the top room of the tower’s grey file when her studious concentrated hush pulled all space as tight to her as the pith lagging snug around a chestnut. * Chains…