Delabole Slate Quarry
Bitten out of the landscape
deserted and yet
a flat-faced gleam of dark slate
crowns the damaged hill.
I see evidence of success
all around at my feet
in neat sharp stiles
rock – sliced and stood on end.
A few lost gulls circle
in silence – scraps left over
from a pre-industrial time
before machines crunched rock.
A glitter of broken fragments
on the long white track from the top –
my eyes are drawn back to a sheer wall
hacked into narrow terraces.
They dare not lean out, even to touch
the word beautiful.
Page(s) 7
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