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a turn in a half-circle looking southward a curve of granite uplands; and, between, within a half-ellipse of stone and sight in which the broken peaks, older than Jehova, have precedence in shaping function, fields, many showing evidence of work / turn the other way, and the universe is shaped striped pottery -- light blue; dark blue with green; then green and brown / the rectangularity of hedge grids does not change the underlying circularity of this end of present Earth, finis terra (so much more impressive than English lands end suggesting a state of things which needs specialism: there's not just some water you can't ford or round / but the significance is read inland where all directions converge or double back as if in panic at an abattoir truck / this morning's a bronze age, flowering yellow, chunk greys glow with the sunlight they have sucked; green shimmering beneath white-and-blue in which the moon floats on bright Earth shadow tilted upon the flow of other gravity / a standing stone in the middle of its field goes on / study it rub your head and arse on it like a cow / this is an entire space to be while its warm a bare dry wall-stone pulsates with tiny spiders, each staggering onward, the road's wet with them, briefly; small birds hesitate and then flutter about, eating them bittily hesitant and not quite sure, full of urges / listen to the first few insects hum, the wind lifting your hair across your ears, your blood ascending and descending the pyramid of the brain / not stunned and sweaty as in August's greatest heats but still as before any opening out, the day-time yet too brief and chilly daisied