You take that turning.nYou’ve got to wake for the Lord in the morning,nwith the shadow of the church spire fallingnon the shoulders and heels of the fearing.nnThe wind banks low,ndraws a furrow through the fields by the wish stonenand while the constellations pin us down,none death makes all the dogs howl.nnAnd they say they know you,nthat they grew with you,nbut you don’t know them at all.nnThis wreath of bramblesnbanked by catechisms and kerbstones,nwe’ve got herons stalking the burnsnbut the devil’s cast out of our homes.nnI carve my name,nmy name singing of new lands and shelter,nmy name set upon for colour,nmy name dreamt by others.nnAnd they say they know you,nthat they grew with you,nbut you don’t know them at all.nWhite clouds rolling, black earth open.nYou’ve got to wait for the call.