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The Sky




Somewhere between the upthrust land and the press of the sky

A thin wind unrolled and licked the bone earth;

the air turned bruise-black and rolled and kicked

until it was engorged with coldness and fury;

it could do nothing but arch and boil and swell

then shouldered its way between the bosom of the land – came forward as a new world, beaten and black and ready to fight,

its shadow changed the earth and its colour and it spat rain that danced:

then came claps and roars and we did not know whether to run

or throw up our hands; so we watched as it fled west,

a swollen black unburdening rampart




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