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
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