Christine Coleman
Dovedale
Frost hardens in the shade of dry-stone walls
under a brittle sky.
These fields are hills now
as you take the track down
over the cattle-grid
down where January sun can’t reach.
Follow the river
tumbling with the weight of rain.
Cold air from its chopped surface
could snap bone
Trees and limestone cliffs close in.
White sound of water
folds into your mind like silk,
draws you deeper into the ravine.
See that small cave?
From its dark throat
Page(s) 47
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