Above a flat nor-west sea
the rolled cloud
sidles over the horizon
It hovers as on strings
Then swings,
dark –
one end on a far spit,
the other reaching for land
The cattle turn
before its flailing arms
Above a flat nor-west sea
the rolled cloud
sidles over the horizon
It hovers as on strings
Then swings,
dark –
one end on a far spit,
the other reaching for land
The cattle turn
before its flailing arms
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Really enjoyed this, thanks. A vastness and then grounded by the cattle.