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Wandering Mountain






Wandering Mountain

 I bury each arc five years distant, palm
to ground between – shale quakes
in tines of my fingers, weaves clay
in my sinews. Inception calcifies
your eyes, your voice, the colour
of your heart. These ancient ribs overreach where I lie
protective of what remains.
A landscape
blighted, flesh and blood become
what lies above

below.

The title is a reference to a Michael Ende book.