Moorings

Beyond the jutting rock, the rooks [Corvus frugilegus – gregarious crow] beyond new-sprouted stumps [like naked rumps the loggers whipped then left behind] beyond the broken stone fence [concrete mimic of a picket, laced with mica, glittering like snow] beyond the surprise golden meadow, the sudden weedy uprising [overgrown with tansy in its swampy pits] the unsuspected rim of the world peeps out – here where grey is declined to infinity…here where Queenly Earth is forced to bow down and abandon her flowery crown to the barberous, swashbuckling sea – this is where you’ll find me – apparently on my own but never truly alone, for two of that black rooking crowd hang on me like a dirty shroud and mock me at every turn

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