Anahorish

My place of clear water
The first hill in the world
Where springs washed into the shiny grass

And darkened cobbles in the bed of the lane
Anahorish, soft gradient
Of consonant, vowel meadow

After image of lamps
Swung through the yards on winter evenings
With pails and barrows
Those mound dwellers go waist deep in mist
To break the light ice
At wells and dung hills