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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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