It rules a severe line
against the free-hand hills.
Within its hunching arcades,
cloud-kennelling, the sky
is partitioned into peepshows.
It is altogether too much
for the landscape to take in.
For makers of stone verses
it gratifyingly displays
twelve perfect spondees;
to coastal visitors, suggests
a pier that has somehow broken
loose and, intact, is snagged
in the heave of the upland swell.
Adamant, it answers the weave
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