Ok, I'm not so sure about this because it turned out a bit bleaker than I expected it would. Its about the foundation deposit at a stone circle in County Cork (not sounding promising!) and manages to squeeze in the faint/distance theme.
Beal's eye planting with a gaze and reaping with a glance.
From the breast of a lover, into his breath I went spinning.
Twisting, turning and entranced, unmoving onto this.
From the top of the dog's hill, into his stop I sit staring.
Face my brothers to the mountains and my sister to the stream.
Mad minds melted by the years, pouring their grief into raving.
While the whispers of my kinfolk, hissed as this dance moved the sun,
are now faint in the distance, and taunt this terrible waiting.