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Call and the Quarry
The dusk is bone light,
The still air is pulled and tugged by corvids,
A creeler tacks in mercury past the coiled coast.
Call, and the quarry
Rolls back its perfect echo;
The trees scribble their lines
Over a graphite scuff of waterfall.
Below, they crawl through the spined shaft
Dull shouts bend, sinews flex,
Lanterns pour pigment on cauterised time.
Poem copyright Larissa Reid
Artwork copyright Elspeth Knight
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