Moor Stand
Back and forth on the blustery jut
I rock my brain in its buoyant swell.
The tang of crowberries and storm clouds
sieved through wind and limestone,
sheep’s piss and heather.
Beneath the high rock, rock ravens spiral,
peregrine swoop within a flying sky
turned upside down.
This is my land, this moment
I declare myself
the very image of this twirling world,
magnified, upright,
somewhere between
a wind-blown gnat
and God.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2020
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