Maeshowe

and the sun has been there
 all this time.
 
After
these weeks of deluge I am

 out walking in clear skies
 I approach the
underpass,
 tunnel-lit this deep winter time
 how
 the ancients
 angled their burial cairns
 directly to the sun's
most distant regard
 as it hung its head
keeking
 along the horizon.

 Dazzled, retina-frazzled I emerge
 under angel's wings.
Into light. A rebirth.

For the sun
sees me this day
and stoops
as low as it will go
to smother me
with nothing
but these chambers
of pure sensation.