Peace settles
like a covering of dew.
Below, the Derwent
is splintered light.
I take a sandwich
from a Tupperware box.
What is this hunger?
I break bread,
see the seed specks
caught like briars on a sleeve,
read a story of this place,
a parable of the plough,
the blade’s keen edge
whet on wind and stone,
turning the soil, opening
the dark immaculate earth.
It is written there, from first cut to last.
The taking in of the harvest,
swollen seed heads,
fine grain crushed
under mill-wheels
cut from the gritstone below my feet.
Everything connected
to the land we inhabit,
seasons turning faithfully.
One current running
through root and artery.
From the long poem Dark Peak (Longbarrow Press, 2008). Listen to James Caruth reading this poem:
Longbarrow Press 