Wednesday 9 October 2013

374

Silence and snow over the fell.
The heavens throw their blistering circle wide.
No quadrant dims or brightens
Of those that climb the sky. Kein Unterschied.

In the hollow below Mam Tor
The ravaged, bloodied body of an ewe whitens,
And a stark projection drops before
Its erstwhile host. What its now spirit intends

The abandoned will not tell.
It is become a casing, blown out into the wind.
The wool at its back dusts with snow.
Figured there in what weak light the stars send,

We may watch the brow fall,
The musculature subside, the silent overthrow
Of all our charge had been. Germ ; door ;
Carriage ; catalyst ; shell : chains in the stream.

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