Received a tip from the settling storm:
Watch the sky breathe,
Heavy with grey foam undressing the sun’s stress,
Much of the work it does,
Cutting ties with the people down below,
Pulling back it’s monument from the sky,
Lying to our senses,
It’s hellishly cold, but I can’t get enough of you.
I listened close to the winds that grew from the joy of living,
Now only ghostly sighs,
Clasping on the red hook blocks,
Once we were thriving without ploughs,
Now striving on the traffic of our locals and loyal customers from the north.