Swirl in a lark's eye
Sparks alive, her swooping soul
The village is a tear in a quail-packed quilt
Fluffed and flattened farm gardens
Diced by dark hedge crosswords
Hardened in the moon's stare
Standing stone
Laying stone
Sleep like the people who have calcified in the shade of the steeple
Market day and a creaking dray
Wheeled through the sky, deliver the yawning sun from the bed of the dale
Splash awake their pale plate faces
The village is alive