Wednesday, September 06, 2006



Quarry

Extinct, fallow, weed-clogged
Cavities of harvested air

Look down upon the harbour
Where familial rock is set

Cut square and thrown
With brutal care beneath

These same feet passing mine
On this and other Sundays


© PJ Nolan 2005

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Posted by Padhraig Nolan at 4:30 p.m.

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