From the air,

A collage of uniform colour

Pitch black outlines of

Ochre polygons

An ascetic aesthetic.


On the ground,

Clay. Fired, baked, cracked, encrusted

Exhausted, consumed, sterile.

A sinister symmetry

An ominous infinity.


On the horizon,

Bovine skulls, desiccated trees


To a certain future

For the serotinous


In hindsight,

A giant jigsaw whose pieces we all made

Whose picture we could not

Collectively imagine

Or reshape.


Deborah Ewing

November 2015


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