Red Hill

Farms are spewing ash in
green flecks under bracken bales:
it is rain and this is wet
which alters our man’s gait: heavy

limbs clutch accountant’s files; between bank
and peat grave, he’ll make a little bread.

Sheep will fleece a fell and brook ~
shall strip this hill of trust, at best,
sewn into cloud; follow across
our antique paths.

What pains the girl in cleaver meat,
and casts the larks to breeze, flame kites
to poisoned slab,
above the shot and empty barn.



About seasonalight

Ginny Battson, Wales. Writer, Getty Image contributor ~ ecology, enviroethics, intrinsic value of biodiversity, geodiversity, ecoliteracy. MA Applied Philosophy.
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