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Break in Granite
 
The mouth gorps and rain drifts in.
Down in its throat, the smell of dirt
and pearl-marl crack the sky
risen in its black corona.
 
Two walkers stop, make a play of shelter
and go, the storm not over
no pause to watch the link in weathers.
 
Too much junk, its quartz is broken bottles
and strata sodden newspapers.
The wind howls and this fault
comes back into the light.
 

 

 

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