Together 

          in their separate stances 

three lost Stonehenge souls 

          removed from the moist 

          blanket of  Salisbury Plain and

          gray, drifting mist of Neolithic     

 memories  

                  await 

         listening

          meditating 

         ignoring 

          vehicle-gods of present day 

          whose mark will be but a weak scratch    

 on the history 

            of their granite bodies.

 Western desert Sun 

        warms these mighty monoliths

              Can they hear their 

       brothers 

       sisters 

       on that distant plain?